"No Nat!"

"No nat (nap)!"

Patrick resists my suggestion that he lay down in his crib. He throws his binkies and begins to fuss. Usually he's a piece of cake to put down, so I'm surprised.

I get him out of his crib and sit with him in the blue and white plaid armchair in his room. He struggles with me, trying to squirm out of my lap. Poor little boy with a bad head cold and new teeth coming in. I know he's tired, even if he's trying to convince me otherwise.

I am firm, telling him it really is time to calm down and get ready for sleep. He begins to give in, laying his blonde head on my shoulder. He squirms some more and then settles down, letting me hold him close.

I have a flashback of a couple of years ago, when Graham was the exact age and fought his naps. It was a hot Virginia summer and I was 7 months pregnant, exhausted most of the time. Instead of insisting on him napping in his crib, I would take him to my bed. We'd lay there- me with my swollen belly and him in his little shorts and t-shirt- with fans blowing on us. Soon he'd drift off, and usually I would, too. Sometimes I'd wake up first and start dinner, leaving my little guy to nap peacefully alone on my bed. It's a sweet memory.

"Mama!" I hear Graham calling for me and feel myself back here in this moment.

Patrick's eyes are heavy now.

"Have a good nap, baby." I lay him in his crib and he doesn't mind now.

I close the door and go find Graham, nostalgic from my memory and treasuring the littleness of my children.