I was going to clean the bathrooms during Willow's afternoon nap, but after much thought on the matter, I've decided to contribute to the blog instead. Aren't you guys lucky?
God knows Willow loves her naps, but it's hard to convey this to other parents without having a solid anecdote to share. The stories don't get any more persuasive than this:
Willow started tugging on my shorts just a few minutes ago. She'd had a nice snack, some milk and some play time already (and she didn't care to get in my lap, thank you very much), so I leaped to the next possible conclusion.
"Willow, do you want a nap?"
Willow is getting to how to say a word here and there, but they're no more complicated than "Da," "Ma," "bir(d)" and "Doug" (ducks, dogs or Dougs but not dug).
Anyway, her answer to my question was as clear as a mountain stream. Heck to the yeah.
Willow whipped her head toward her bedroom and took off at her "get-out-of-my-way" walk toward the door. She even knocked a Willow-sized mailbox out of the way (I swear she looked like Godzilla toppling a skyscraper in Tokyo).
In her room, she walked to her crib and pointed, then she did something she hasn't before, she lifted her arms high to the sky. She wanted me to pick her up and put her in the crib.
This is nap time, people. Make no mistake.
I tucked her under her two favorite blankets, lay Baby in her arms, turned on the lullaby music and rubbed the hair off her forehead. "Sweet dreams, angel."
As I sit here typing, the monitor is still humming out the lullaby music.
But there's no sound coming from Willow.
She's sound asleep.
God knows Willow loves her naps, but it's hard to convey this to other parents without having a solid anecdote to share. The stories don't get any more persuasive than this:
Willow started tugging on my shorts just a few minutes ago. She'd had a nice snack, some milk and some play time already (and she didn't care to get in my lap, thank you very much), so I leaped to the next possible conclusion.
"Willow, do you want a nap?"
Willow is getting to how to say a word here and there, but they're no more complicated than "Da," "Ma," "bir(d)" and "Doug" (ducks, dogs or Dougs but not dug).
Anyway, her answer to my question was as clear as a mountain stream. Heck to the yeah.
Willow whipped her head toward her bedroom and took off at her "get-out-of-my-way" walk toward the door. She even knocked a Willow-sized mailbox out of the way (I swear she looked like Godzilla toppling a skyscraper in Tokyo).
In her room, she walked to her crib and pointed, then she did something she hasn't before, she lifted her arms high to the sky. She wanted me to pick her up and put her in the crib.
This is nap time, people. Make no mistake.
I tucked her under her two favorite blankets, lay Baby in her arms, turned on the lullaby music and rubbed the hair off her forehead. "Sweet dreams, angel."
As I sit here typing, the monitor is still humming out the lullaby music.
But there's no sound coming from Willow.
She's sound asleep.
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