Brain Melty

Penny flung herself into bed with me last night around 3am, claiming a bad dream. (She might have been faking it, but if so, she was doing a better job than usual.) I let her lay beside me until her breathing slowed and evened out and she was almost asleep, then nudged her awake again. "Time to go back to bed," I told her.

"But Mommy," she said, "I'm not sleepy!"

"Well, I am," I answered, "so I need you to be in your bed."

This morning, she appeared at my bedside promptly at 6. "Mommy. It's six."

"Great," I rasped. "Go get dressed."

She was back in a blink. "Mommy? Why are you still in bed?"

"Because I'm tired. You woke me up last night, so I didn't get enough sleep."

"But I had a bad dream!"

"I know. I'm not mad. But I'm still tired."

"I'm not tired."

I do remember being a kid who never felt sleepy, even when yawns were stretching my jaw until it popped, which is why I never argue the point with her -- it's futile. How old was I when I came to recognize the heavy, slightly fuzzy feeling that I now identify with sleepiness? I didn't get the hang of "sleeping in" or napping until I was in college, but I'd been setting my own bedtime at night for years before that.

In fact, I don't recall ever having a set bedtime at all. I'm sure I did, because I remember trying to hide the fact that I was reading in bed instead of sleeping when I was little. But I also vividly recall an evening when we still lived in Hampton (which means I was still in elementary school) when everyone in the house went to bed long before me, and I remember thinking that I didn't really like being the only one who was up and about. And I thought it with that sort of, "Oh, yes, I remember now" tone that means I'd done it before, if not very often.

Certainly by the time I was in high school, I was going upstairs at around nine or so (whenever TV stopped being interesting) and then putzing around in my room (mostly reading or talking to friends on the phone) until I felt ready to go to bed -- which was anywhere between 9:30 and 11, most nights. (I remember staying up until 2 one night, on the phone with a friend, having one of those conversations that can only take place in the dark.) And I was usually up a bit before 6 so I could shower and make it out to the bus stop in time to catch the "early" bus, which was quieter and less crowded than the regular bus, and most of the time, I was well-rested enough.

The "draconian" rules of my youth involved things like homework before television, and helping with the household chores, and not hitting my brother even if he was being really, really stupid. But not bedtimes.

I seem to have wandered off on a tangent. Which is the kind of thing that happens when I'm tired from having had my sleep interrupted.