Sleepless

"People who say they sleep like a baby 

usually don't have one. " 

Leo J. Burke

Pip had trouble getting to sleep last night.  She came out of her bedroom three times.  First it was,"Mama, I don't have the right blanket."  She loves her ladybug blanket.

"What do you mean by that?"

"That means you have to help me get my blanket set up."

"Do you think you're having trouble sleeping because you had a nap today?"

"Yhea.  Daddy woke me up."

Pip formally phased-out her afternoon nap about six months ago, but occasionally she still needs a little kip if she's overtired.  At about 3:30 pm yesterday, Pip was an emotional wreck.  She was bursting into tears at the slightest provocation, so I said, "Pip, you're really tired," and that's all it took.  With tears streaming down her face she said,

"Mama, I need a nap."  How could I deny her?  I let her have a late-afternoon nap even though I knew that bedtime might be difficult.

Indeed, bedtime was proving to be difficult.  Pip came out of her room a second time because her pull-up was wet.  Fair enough.  Who can fall asleep with three pounds of wet diaper between their legs?  She shed a few tears when I left her bedroom after the pull-up change.

The third time Pip made an appearance she was rubbing her belly-button, her form of self-soothing.  "I still can't sleep Mama."

"Hmmm.  What should we do, honey?"

No response.  More button-rubbing.

"What would help you get to sleep?"

"Um. Mama, one more book would help me sleep.  Just one more book."

I felt for her.  I've suffered from insomnia before and it's dreadful.  The more you try to fall asleep, the more aware you become of not being able to sleep.  I caved.  The pink zebra-lamp went on and we snuggled in for one more book.

Naturally, she didn't want me to leave after one more book, and tears filled her heavy eyes.  I told her that I used to have trouble getting to sleep sometimes when I was her age, but I stopped before I spilled the beans about 'Suzie the hairdresser.'  

You see, I had an active imagination as a child, and when I couldn't find sleep and my parents said, "Karen, you have to go back to bed, "  I would say,

"Oh, I'm not Karen, I'm Suzie the hairdresser.  Can I do your hair?"  My parents would let me comb their hair and peek over their shoulders at the Carol Burnett show.  You can see why I thought it best not to give Pip any ideas.  I'm sure she would've loved the idea of coming into the living-room with a comb and brush to style Big Daddy-O's and my hair.  I have a feeling I would've loved it too.