Oh, how I am enjoying my third trimester. Specifically naps. Along with my partner in snuggle crime, a fuzzy blanket, and the warmth of the heater blowing on my face, I am in heaven. So I nap.
I have always required an immense amount of sleep, like 8+ hours a night or feel the wrath of my crankiness kind of sleep, but I have never been much of a “napper.” (Now don’t get me wrong. I can saw logs in the middle of a Sunday afternoon football game with the best of them. But it’s a Sunday.) Mainly because every time I would lie down, my eyes would spring open and I would be plagued with a mental To Do list of what I should be doing. I could just envision my hubby walking in the door after a long day at work and asking the question that all women hate to hear, “What all have you done today?” I just couldn’t bear the thought of having to admit that I took a nap. So I would let out a long sigh, start the coffee pot, and get moving.
I am ecstatic that now I am allowed to nap. Not only am I allowed to nap, I am expected to nap. I love when people affirm that my time of 24/7 baby duty is coming very shortly, so I should relax, enjoy my cookies, and nap. Guilt free.