It was 2:30 p.m., and I had just put the baby down for his afternoon snooze. My 4-year-old was thoroughly enjoying watching a cartoon as he lay on the couch with his blankie. I was next to him checking something or other on the laptop. It was a little chilly, so I got the giant blanket out of our blanket bin to snuggle with. I closed that laptop and started reading my book, remembering that I’d have to return it to the library tomorrow. 

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His eyes started to slowly blink, then they stayed closed. He must’ve been really tired. As I recalled getting the baby down somewhere after 1 a.m. the night before and waking up early to get my school kids ready for the bus, it hit me that I was tired too. I continued reading with guilt starting to swarm my mind. After all, having both kids asleep during the daylight hours was rare. Actually, I didn’t recall the last time this had ever happened unless we were in a vehicle.

The panic started to encircle me—I should be doing something!

I should probably shower. Maybe, I could get actual clothes on and do my hair and makeup too. You know, get all fancy.

I should do a yoga practice. The house is perfectly quiet for it.

I should clean out the bathroom.

I should tidy the toys.

I should really make the whole house spotless and make something yummy for my school kids to come home to.

I should write. I’d have no interruptions!

I should catch up on my kids’ journals.

I should get a start on this year’s family photo book. 

I should make a couple of phone calls.

I should . . .

My eyes got heavy as the blanket somehow reached its way to my face. I fell asleep.

I woke up to the sound of beeping. It was the school bus backing up. My big kids were home! I slowly walked to the door to greet them. With my disheveled bun and groggy voice, I said, “Good morning.”

They thought it was funny. I let them believe I meant to say that to get a laugh, but it actually just slipped out because it’s just what I say when I wake up.

I listened to them describe some of their days and soon the two littles were awake too. The evening progressed.

I kicked myself for wasting that precious time. That time I will probably never ever have again with both kids asleep in a quiet house. I felt like I wasted my moment. My perfect productive moment.

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But then I remembered that this had happened to me once before.

At nine months pregnant with our fourth baby, I had my husband take the kids for a day. It was going to be a day of rejuvenation to nurture my soul and energy in preparation for our new normal of four kids. I needed my energy reserves armed and ready. I needed to nest. I needed to prepare for our Thanksgiving meal that would be the next day. I needed my introverted body and mind to finally get the solitude it was starving for. There were so many wonderful aspirations I had for this day.

But, I unintentionally fell asleep on the couch for the majority of it. 

Same story. Except, I remember the message I received after I awoke feeling this same guilt. As I watched a random YouTube video from a spiritual leader, he spoke about being busy and in a rather humorous way reiterated that Jesus took naps. I laughed, but also felt the rush of God’s whisper that I needed this sleep. That it was more than OK.

Why do we feel so guilty for resting, for letting our bodies refuel and reset?

Just take the nap, mama.