Rockabye

We teach our children, at that moment in life when they’re adorable little indefensible cherubs, that life is simply a series of inalienable rights, that we will take care of them always and forever, that the world is full of wonderful people with amazing and pure intentions. It’s an important lesson and one that I hope never changes. Life will knock them down soon enough. This little seed of an heirloom rosebush, if planted soon enough and tended to lovingly, will surely bloom right as the sweet spell of childhood wears off. One day, as a not so innocent and far less cherub-esque adult who’s just about to give up and throw in the towel, they’ll spontaneously remember that one time Mommy or Daddy or Grandma or Aunt Karen told them they were perfect and everything will be better tomorrow. And, just like a proverbial dawn before the clichéd storm, it is. That’s my hope, at least. Unfortunately, I’m on the downside of the cherub, more akin to a rotting plum than a new born babe. Still, I cling to the voice of my father telling me what a smart girl I am – to the voice of my mother telling me to dream only sweet dreams. Therein lies the problem. Sleep, the one thing that really should be an inalienable right, like a constitutional amendment, has turned out to be an elusive enigma. More and more, a restful night’s sleep is just something else I vaguely remember from my childhood, like a good game of freeze tag or swing the statue. I don’t sleep well and, to add insult to injury, I either don’t dream or can’t recall that I do. Give me liberty, or just give me some decent sleep.

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