Leisure Sickness

Yesterday, I had a long conversation with one of my clients about down time and vacation. I asked her when it became more desirable to sleep than to do anything else. She responds with something profound about entering adulthood and having responsibilities. I smiled and nodded, but did not quite believe her because I know plenty of adults (other than myself, of course) that prefer adult time and activities to sleep.


Sure enough, bed time comes for my daughter, Wren, and I am ready to knock out, too. Never mind it is barely 7:30. Exhausted, I decide to forgo the battle, and allow her to sleep in my room. I go downstairs to lay down in a quiet room until she passed out. 10 minutes later, she comes down talking about her hunger as if I have starved her for the last week. I calmly tell her it is bed time, and there will be no snacks tonight. You can imagine how she takes this news. 30 minutes later, she comes back to tell me she needs to go potty. Of course, I am not going to deny her this necessity. She proceeds to wash her arms and hands until they are so covered in soap, and she is unable to wash it off. She calls for me again, and I head up to wash each arm with two hands and what seems to be a gallon of water. I tuck her back in bed and think I am done for the night. I am wrong.

Around 9:30pm she comes back very pleased with herself because her hands are sticky. I ask her what is all over her hands, and she tells me it is lotion. I ask her where she found the lotion, and she replies, "I'm sorry, mommy." Now I know something is up. I head upstairs to find a sticky bed, sticky carpet, and of course, sticky 3 year-old. I find the culprit. It is KY.

I clean her and the floor up, and we are pushing 11:00pm. I decide that it is probably not that good of an idea to let her sleep in my room, and I banish her to her own. This does not go over well. But, I am exhausted. I think I pass out before she does.
About 2:00am, she comes in crying - I am not even sure she has been asleep. She wants to sleep in my room. I calmly, but crankily deny her request, and try and go back to sleep. I must succeed because the next thing I know it is 6:45 and she is groggily whining for Diego. At some point in the night, she stealthily has snuck in my room and fallen asleep.

We start our day. I realize why I daydream of sleep more than of girls' nights, long walks on the beach, or exciting films.