Sleep Lust

My life has had a very obvious progression. Clive Owen used to be my major lust. I've seen all Clive's movies. I've even seen his BBC series before he was famous. I imagined one day I would run off with Clive Owen.

Somewhere along the way, I moved on. To Anthony Bourdain. Perhaps I realized that I didn't particulary suit someone as suave as Clive. No . . . I would be better off with a chef who can knock back a few shots after work, who can stay up all night. When you have four kids, staying up all night is a reality much of the time. If I'm not being awakened by Demon Baby or waiting for the sound of Oldest Daughter's car to come into the driveway after her part-time job at a restaurant . . . it's Baby Girl's nightmare or Oldest Boy's migraine. In short, it's always something. So Anthony became my new lust.

When sleep deprivation reached epic proportions, the assorted men on Demon Baby's favorite morning pre-school shows started to look good to me. Steve from Blues Clues started looking quite handsome in his green-striped shirt. But I soon settled on the Blue Wiggle as my lust and point of fascination. Even wearing his Blue Wiggle shirt, Anthony (another Anthony) looked quite handsome to me. In a suit, he's rather dreamy.

Now? Quite frankly, all I lust after is SLEEP. I would write a check for all the money in my checking account (admittedly not much) for ONE SOLID NIGHT'S SLEEP. No one waking me at two a.m. No Demon Baby nightmares or crying out for me. No Baby Girl climbing in my bed and kicking me (she is a first-class kicker). No Oldest Daughter stomping up the stairs late at night (she's not angry--just has a heavy footfall). I lust for a quiet room, maybe some soft classical music. And sleep.

Since Demon Baby's arrival three years ago . . . my priorities have entirely changed. I have Sleep Lust not Clive Lust.