Comma Dot Comma

Today I was resting in the room next to where Abigail was “napping.” I couldn’t make out everything she was saying, but at one point, she started calling out in a loud voice, “Allllll Abooooaaarrrd!” After naptime was over I asked her what was going on.

Me: Were you saying all aboard?
Abi: Yes. There was a train. Baby Cat fixed the train.
Me: What was wrong with it?
Abi: It had a hole in it. Baby Cat fixed it with sticky tape.
Me: Who was the driver?
Abi: Me! Mama Cat! All aboard! Choo choo! This is the train whistle (brandishing a mini mag lite).

I’m giving up on naps, I think. She can just stay in there and rest for an hour and half, entertaining herself with stories. We’ve done everything we can think of: Dark room, sleepy time routine, consistent nap time pretty much every day, bribes, interventions, etc. I can turn out lights and take away toys but I can’t get her to turn that imagination off. Maybe if I could get her to close her mouth for 15 minutes it would work. Duct tape? Just kidding.

And I think she’s okay overall– getting about 11 or 12 hours of sleep instead of her former 12 to 13, resulting in the occasional 3 hour nap crash. Most days, she drags around much of the afternoon but she doesn’t get grouchy. There are more morning meltdowns than I would like, but she seems fine-ish without the nap. She would benefit from a nap but won’t die for lack of it.

And she’s constantly full throttle with that imagination. At snack time today a broken pretzel became a tiny bird that a) went looking for its mommy b) learned to fly c) ate some food d) escaped a bunch of snakes and e) landed safely in the house Abi made for it (the pretzel bowl). Yes, staying focused on eating is an issue too. I love that wild imagination and wish it had an off switch.

You know that friend we all had when we were in our teens or twenties? The one that fell completely in love with The Wrong Guy? The Dangerous, Complicated Guy? At first she loved him because he was dangerous and then she loved him because he needed her. She thought she could missionary date him right out of all his troubles. That is Abigail and Swiper the Fox all over. Her enthrallment with his wicked ways, which I wrote about in detail a month or so, has waned. Swiper is still, in her words, “My best friend,” and he spends as much time starring in her fantasies as ever. But now, she is slowly reforming him. When he behaves badly, she puts him in a time out and gives him a stern talking to. “No swiping, Swiper!” Then she takes his side of the conversation: “But I really like to swipe!” Then she responds: “You’re nice now!”

He still occasionally swipes, but more frequently engages in less mean mischief, like popping out at and saying “Boo,” or doing something mysterious called Gokking. She asks for Swiper stories all day long, but they must focus on some other characteristic of Swiper other than swiping. He might be moldy, or a giant, or Macky Swiper or Stinky Swiper or Leaping Swiper. She will put some made-up word in front of his name and ask for a story. “Tell a Noony Swiper story, Mommy.” If he swipes something in the story, she interjects with, “And then he gave it back,” or, “No, Swiper went home to his house.” She is his champion, the one who insists that everyone accept his new and improved character. She knows he’s going to backslide sometimes, but that’s all part of the process. She loves her little Swiper.