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Good Night, My Foot

July 7, 2013 by Diane

A crying baby.

If a well-meaning loved one wishes you a good night and then hexes the good part by hoping that you sleep like a baby…punch them in the nose.

I’m not advocating violence; I’m a pacifist. But after weeks of insomnia the lines of morality get fuzzy.

Anyone with a smidgen of common sense knows that babies sleep for two hours before they wake up, ball their tiny fists, kick their chubby legs and wail nonstop until someone comes along to feed, soothe and sing them a lullaby. Then it’s another two hours of sleeping before the balling, kicking and wailing begin anew.

This is what my nights have become—without the feeding, soothing or lullabies.

Instead of warm milk, it’s Restoril with a water chaser.

Instead of a gentle rocking in mommy’s arms, it’s five hours of twisting and turning between the sheets.

Instead of a soothing lullaby about how the cradle will rock, the bough will break, and everything will come crashing down, it’s…well, pretty much the same song, except my own mind providing the frightening images.

Tell your well-meaning loved one to say “Sleep well,” and leave it at that.

And if anyone brags to you about how they slept like a baby, give the poor sap a sympathetic rub between the shoulder blades.

Unless they’re talking about one of those freak babies that actually sleeps through the night.

Then by all means, punch the braggart in the nose.

 

 

 

 


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