Until now, it’s been all SSSHHHHH! and tip-toeing and feeding into oblivion and bathroom fans and whispers. Two bleary adults, positively pickle-bummed at any and all non-silent offenders, a fingertip's grip on sanity being dictated or dashed by one most precious commodity: sleep.

But now, down to only one nap a day as his age requires, it’s all-important to keep him awake until after lunch. We race out in the morning, erranding and driving and visiting and grocerying against the clock to be home by 1 PM. He starts nodding off shortly after noon, and the car, once a powerful tool in the sleep-inducing arsenal, is now a dreaded pre-nap sleep-inducer.

On the way home from the city today, my rear view was of eyes rolling into the back of his head, lolling from side to side. SEE THE TRUCK EVAN? LOOK OUT THE WINDOW! WOW! WE’RE HALFWAY HOME! WE’LL TURN LEFT UP HERE! LOOK AT THE CARS! snapping my fingers and chucking volleys of dinky cars and clacky men and tonka trucks into his lap with Man I Used To Be at top volume.

(If it’s going to be a good three-hour nap, as it should be, it has to start with milk & cuddles and end in the crib. Otherwise it’s mere dozing, which simply doesn’t cut it.)

You get used to the new world order, settling into a routine based on proven assumptions. You know when to hold him, when to walk away and when to run.

Then, just as you’re feeling seasoned, the kid changes planets.