When I went for freshman orientation, an upper class-woman came to speak to us and told us naps were our friends. I didn’t nap in college. Oh sure, sometimes I stayed up all night, went to class at 8:00 in the morning, then went home and went to bed, but that doesn’t count.
When I had a baby, I read that I should be napping: sleeping when the baby sleeps.
Because I don’t nap, I didn’t sleep.
Which is of course untrue, but I don’t get that much-celebrated eight hours of sleep a night. I don’t think I even get six. And that’s not straight through. But sleeping during the daylight hours is practically impossible for me. First of all, I am a light sleeper, so I am easily woken by sound. Party at the neighbors, overenthusiastic dog in the distance, snarfling raccoon just below the open bedroom window, the muffled sounds of death metal coming from the odd neighbor’s basement, and I’m up. During the day, there’s just much more sonic activity, and it keeps me from getting into a good falling-to-sleep groove. Not to mention that it takes me 30 minutes and a good book to begin to drop off. If I am tired enough to nap, it’s pretty extreme, but even then, if I find that groove, and it gets interrupted, I’m done.
One afternoon on The Cape, I was that tired. I had almost gotten into the groove, and Pete came in looking for something. I could have ignored him and tried to hold on, but I knew what he was looking for, and I knew where it was. The groove was not far off, though, so I grabbed a quilt and snuggled down.
That’s when the lawn guys showed up.