Mutiny

War has officially been declared by my pint-sized 2-year-old. A war on naps, i.e. Until a couple of weeks ago, Raina was a napper. She didn't just docilely go for her afternoon nap, she'd look forward to it. And if she didn't go down as scheduled, she'd be one cranky, scowly little girl.

Then one fine day, completely out of the blue, she took up arms. Just like her napping used to be so scheduled, her war follows a definite pattern. Here's the scenario enacted every afternoon: First, she'll try the Delay Tactic -- "Mom, I need to go poop!" she'll holler, and proceeds to do the deed. After washing her hands, drinking a glass of water and jumping down from her stool, she'll be led to bed. Twenty minutes later, I'll hear her bedroom door opening. "I slept so well!" the fibber'll exclaim. I hold her hand firmly and lead her back to bed. Fifteen minutes pass. The door opens, Raina toddles out to the top of the stairs, sheepishly holding her nap buddy Prisha The Tiger before her face. Then, while I drag her to bed yet again, the bawling starts.

A couple of times, I just gave way, simply because by then it was 2:30 p.m. and close to the end of naptime anyway. Then I'd threaten her, "You're going to bed an hour early because you didn't take a nap." This was not a good idea. Turns out, Madam was only too thrilled to continue forgoing her naps and going to bed at 6:15 p.m. So I had to dig in my heels.

Yesterday, I tucked her in bed at 1 p.m. After dragging her back for the umpteenth time, at 3:20 p.m she finally slept. This afternoon, she went down like a lamb. But I've a dirty feeling this war is far from won.