For What It's Worth

Sometimes, judging the value of something is impossible, and the question, "Was it worth it?" is just plain ridiculous. 

We all know that those treasured photos of friends, lovers and relatives that are no longer with us (either from relationships deceased or defunct) are worth more than diamonds. And the little surprise compliment given to us on the day we feel particularly low can make our day. When I was pregnant with my son and feeling especially balloon-sized, a former, now deceased, colleague told me I looked "radiant," and he paused and smiled before saying, "You've got that glow," and it literally made me beam. 

Those are obvious treasures, like the chipped dishes we may save from our first apartment, the tarnished keychains from high school proms, the tiny clothes from our kids' first days and the like. Yes, those things have a "worth," right?

But yesterday I made a grave error in judgment. I let John take a late nap. And the aftermath was hell. 

Honestly, the whole reason for the late nap is one that all of us as parents can relate to: I let John Sawyer take a late nap because I was tired. Me. I was dead. After a full day with the kiddos that included the building of multiple cities in multiple formats (blocks, Duplo Legos and the "real"/small Legos) the three of us headed out in search of fun and went to two different parks. In the words of Sissy Spacek as Loretta Lynn in "Coal Miner's Daughter," I was "about ready to die." So when John Sawyer fell asleep in his carseat on the way home, covered in ice cream, I carried his sweet and sticky self up to his room and let him snooze. I thought it would be "worth it." I was so wrong!

At first, I didn't realize how late it was. But as the clock struck 6 and his Royal Chubbiness showed no sign of waking up, I sent in the big guns, also known as Big Sister. If anyone can get him to budge, it's her.

No such luck. On he snored. And I let him. Because I was wiped out too. Some small part of me hoped he was exhausted enough to sleep all night - or maybe wake up around 5 a.m. 

But it was a nightmare. Somewhere between 7:30 and 8, as Em drifted off to slumber, John woke up angry and fretted and cried, snacked and snarked and cried some more. It's as though he knew it was late, but was frustrated because Daddy and Mimi weren't around. He wanted to play, but was falling over because he was still so exhausted, but couldn't bring himself to submit to sleeping again. Somehow I thought he'd go back to sleep around 10, or maybe even 11 (horrors) but that I'd be able to settle into a late-night Housewives marathon and chill out. No way.

We changed his pjs. We watched a little Peppa Pig. We had a little snack. We sat on the porch swing, which usually chills him out. We went through that cycle of 

• snuggle him and rock him and put him down while he's practically sleeping
• silently creep out the door with exaggerated steps like a cartoon
• wait for him to cry, and listen as the cries turn to shrieks, tell myself he'll fall back asleep
• when he doesn't, let him cry it out for 15 minutes until my actual heart breaks and I have to pick him up again 

Repeat. Repeat. Repeatrepeatrepeat until almost 1:30 a.m.

Let me be clear; John Sawyer isn't a bad sleeper; on the contrary, he's been a dream baby since the beginning (which makes up for Em's projectile vomiting and general sleeplessness for her first five months). But age 2 is bringing a lot of changes, and we're all still adjusting to them.

"Worth," gets recalculated all day - the lollipop that you know is impending tooth decay on a stick is worth it when you need to finish that conference call in the car. The rules you make for yourself as a parent or as an adult can go right out the window.

Today I feel hungover and hellacious. All the MAC concealer in the world can hide these bags but a green tea might help. And if the kids are going to be parked in front of the tv, for a bit, it'll be worth it.