
It’s 1:15 when the last door upstairs closes. I hear her patter down the stairs, one to fourteen, landing lightly on Pergo. Afternoon sunlight glows on dirty dishes; the floor at my feet is a mine field of plastic bags, the spoils of the morning’s Target run. She surveys the mess, then looks longingly at the office…and the couch.
Come on, girl. You know you need this. I heard how many times you were up last night.
She picks her way among the bags, and I cheer. Reaching across the glass surface, she presses a button, and I obligingly begin counting upward. At twenty, her finger lifts.
No way. That’s not nearly enough.
She makes a face; she knows that as well as I do. But there’s so much to do–the assignments that tap out from beneath her fingers, the music that’s due in a week, the mess in the kitchen… I watch her waffle; at last, she punches in another thirteen minutes. Thirty-three minutes. Three to fall asleep, thirty to nap.
I start the count: twenty-nine. Go on. Get over there and lie down. You don’t know when that baby’s gonna wake up again.
She takes a drink from a big hospital mug, grabs a few sheets of paper and tosses them in the recycling–halfhearted attempts to split the difference between rest and housecleaning. Then she flings herself across the couch, burying her eyes beneath a pillow.
Twenty-eight minutes. She’s having trouble getting to sleep; the breathing is all wrong. She’s thinking about what she’s going to do when she gets up.
Twenty-six minutes. The phone rings. She punches it on and back off without answering–must have been one of those 800 number calls. Twenty-five.
At twenty-four minutes, her breathing slows; the house settles into a quiet it rarely sees during daylight hours: the soft ticking of the wall clock, the refrigerator’s hum, the low rumble and tumble of the dryer upstairs. I wish I could slow the relentless countdown, but I can’t; my reliability is the only reason she trusts me. Twenty minutes. Fifteen. Ten. Upstairs, a child rolls over, its feet thumping the walls. I tense, but the slow, even breaths don’t change. She must be tired. Five minutes. Three. One. Now we’re counting seconds…three…two…one..
Beeep. Beeep. Beeep.
She takes a deep breath, stirs, and groans. Nap time is over.
**
To my regular (non-Write-On-Edge) readers, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do this prompt; it seemed pretty far outside of what I would normally write. But Christian encouraged me to try, and since the heavyweight stuff yesterday didn’t seem as interesting, I figured, What the hey? Hope you don’t mind. 🙂
When I had a newborn, i would absolutely nap when baby was sleeping. Also take phone off hook or turn off ringer and turn down volume on answering machine…. sleep is a necessity of life and since babes get up multiple times during the night, moms must get a nap to survive….
the dustbunnies will wait
Love. Absolutely heart. The idea of the counter having such a personality, really watching over her as she napped. Genius!
Great read!
Lovely take on the prompt! I can see what’s important to you at the moment, and you create such a lovely picture of the sleeping house –‘the soft ticking of the wall clock, the refrigerator’s hum, the low rumble and tumble of the dryer upstairs’. I get the feeling that the timer is really on your side 🙂
I love this! 🙂
I absolutely loved this. It was so interesting to read this – a scene I’m all too familiar with as a mother of two young kids – from the timer’s “perspective.” Really, really good.
Love this!! Those trusty alarms. Love to hate ’em.
I felt like I was there. The sounds of the house going on long after sleep felt familiar, to a time past when I was a young mom. Take the advice here and get some sleep when your child sleeps. There’s no other way to get enough. Love this.
Ah, how ironic to come to the computer & find this comment when newly disrupted from an attempted nap by the baby, who slept while the bigger boys were awake & woke as soon as they went to bed… 🙂
I was nearly cheering for her to nap…..and that phone?!?! It was the villain of the story for me.
I enjoyed this. It was motherly without the weight 😉 taking a new spin on time. It’s nice to imagine something watching over us for a change, eh?
Wonderful job, Kate! I love the way that you have with words! I felt like I was there – very creative!
Another woman with a love-hate relationship with the alarm clock! I salute you!
Very nice imagery!
I loved this. You really made me love that timer, too…so feeling and understanding towards you and your need for a nap. I just want to hug it! Nice job with personification. This is one of my favorites of the day!
Oh, how sweet! Thanks!
Nap time=Bliss time…It’s been many, many years since I had this feeling and you took me back there. Each stage is different. I long for the moments like this again.
I feel the tension of the countdown. Although I’m long past small children I can still have days (and nights) so crowded that I debate if I can spare 20 minutes for a nap. Your description matched my nap routine (and interruptions) so well.
I’m #44 in RemembeRED.