No Naps For Me

I am not a napper. Even when my kids were babies, and people would insist “sleep when your baby sleeps”, the reality was that I could not nap. Even as sleep deprived as a new mom can get. No dice.

If I DO fall asleep, I awake feeling shaky and hung over.

I have high hopes, but every time, the reality is quite different:


Nap fail.

Every single blooming time.

I can’t even nap on an airplane, a particularly annoying trait when one has an 8-plus hour international overnight flight. I’m the one exiting the plane looking haggard and wild-eyed, as if I’ve spent the past 8 hours in a box with manic chimpanzees pumped full of Mountain Dew and coffee.  (Me, not the chimps.)

And of course, on that rare Saturday afternoon where I actually DO conk out on the sofa, it is inevitable that one of my children will approach the couch, and with their darling little face mere inches away from mine, whisper loudly “Daddy said not to wake you up. I just wanted you to know that we are going to the park/store/place.”

Gee, thanks kiddo.

Of course, if you put me in the passenger seat on a long car ride, particularly on a hot, sunny day, or at an Allman Brothers concert, and sometimes at the Symphony if I’ve had too many late nights writing, you may find me nodding off.

But that’s not the same thing as a nap.

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