Feeling Nappy

As a child, I presume some time after infancy, I allegedly stopped taking naps. My brother would nap, other children would nap, but I would not. I'm not sure if I would just lie awake quietly or protest violently, but at some point my mother must have realized putting me down for a nap was worth neither her while nor mine. I even had a note exempting me from nap time at preschool, kindergarten and at the baby-sitter's, Mrs. Mumm. (The Dickensian appropriateness of her name was lost on me at the time, but I think that is perhaps the most fabulously literary name from my childhood.) All the other children would pull out their cots or pallets while I could stay up and quietly read or play with toys on my own, which I probably much preferred to playing with the rowdy children who needed downtime. I remember having nice conversations with Mrs. Mumm while everyone drooled on their mats. She probably liked it, too, since I remember helping her pour juice for the afternap snack.

Well, that has changed. Now I am fully into the afternoon nap. Thank God I have my own office at work. Last Thursday we had some of Eli's work friends over for dinner and they were talking about how I would be good at their line of work. I guffawed. Sure, I might make more money (I'd certainly have to work a lot harder) but I couldn't stand the environment of being in a pit for more than a week and proceeded to tell them how that very day I had closed my office door, put down a bit of bubble wrap for cushioning, taken a quilt from my cupboard and laid it over the bubble wrap, and took a peaceful 20 minute shluff. They were incredulous. It was a bit George Costanza, but I am 8.5 months pregnant and thus far no one has commented on the daily closed office door.