When spring comes, the quality of my sleep plummets. The house gets warmer, so I’m inclined to open the windows to let in some fresh, cool air. However, the robins start chirring and chucking around 4:00 AM, so then I get out of bed and shut out the cool air.
As I’ve gotten older, my sleep routine has gotten more elaborate. It starts with sleep tea (or Nighty Night or Sleepytime, etc.) with steamed milk, then magnesium pills and either a hot bath with epsom salts or a soak in the hot tub if it’s below 40 degrees outside. Then it’s to bed, eye mask handy to shield against the street lights glowing behind the shades. I can go on, but I don’t want to put anyone to sleep.
The truth is, I’ve never been a great sleeper. We had a ticking battery-powered alarm clock in the room I shared with one of my sisters when I was a kid. I would be dropping off to sleep, and the ticking would seem to get louder. More than a few nights would end with the clock wrapped in a towel and stowed in the bathroom cabinet.
Group homes in college and after college brought their own set of challenges to my sleep, and then motherhood found me, which taught me that I previously had no real understanding of sleep depravation.
What I’ve always needed is my own personal sleep cave. I want it set at 65 degrees, dark, and silent. There’s a market for that, I’m sure of it.
My Corner of the Village 