Five. Seventeen. A. M. This is the time I was rudely awoken this morning by the boy's cries. Actually, this is not strictly true, it was probably 5:14 as I definitely spent three minutes with my eyes clamped tightly shut, willing myself and him back to sleep, not looking at the clock, and wishing, not for the first time, that he had come with a mute button installed. You would think I would have learnt by now that this approach is utterly futile. He wasn't giving up. So at 5:17 I drag my sorry arse across the landing to see what is up. Nappy check-fine. Comforter-all present ...
Insomnia
Insomnia is something that comes and goes in my life. Like some kind of errant teenage boyfriend, taunting me, occupying my thoughts, wearing me out. He, let's call him he, is visiting at present. His usual visiting hours begin at around one am. Having gone to sleep reasonably easily by eleven pm I am suddenly, inexplicably woken and there he is. We go over and over stuff. Work stuff, tax stuff, money stuff, love stuff, family stuff, stuff that happened at university, at school, the list is endless. Almost every situation that has occurred in my life that is, or has ever, made me uneasy ...