No more naps.
At least not daily ones.
I know, I know. We've had it good. I have absolutely no right to attempt to garner any kind of sympathy at this stage. Most of our friend's kids dropped their naps before 3, some by 2 and 1/2. And yet we've coasted along, napping it up for a minimum of 90 minutes every day. Without fail, and without resistance. We all needed that naptime, and we were all grateful for it.
And now. Sigh. The jig is up.
No more collapsing on the couch at 2pm with a coffee and something chocolaty that I wait to eat while she's not around. No more catching up on laundry or dishes, or getting a jump on dinner without interruption. No more mid-afternoon naps or mom blog binges.
But also, no more splitting each day into distinct halves, factoring in travel time to and from home. No more stressing about late naps causing late bedtimes. No more remembering to bring home nap stuff, wash it, and return it to school on Monday morning.
As with everything, you take the good with the bad. I'm a little bummed about it, but also proud of my little muffin for graduating to a new phase of childhood. The non-napper. So far she's handled it without any meltdowns or fiascos of any kind. Just the odd "I'm tiiired", but that's nothing you don't hear from mom and dad ten times a day anyway, so we welcome her into our little chorus.
It'll make for some less peaceful car rides, I imagine, but on the upside Ralph can whine all he wants in the back seat without waking anyone up. Fantastic.
This is what I would call "sleeping hard".