NO REST FOR THE WICKED
Sep 08, 2019
3 minutes
by Lisa Scott
“You were always such a sleepy baby,” my mother reminisced. “We had to wake you up to feed you.” I love the picture of me this conjures: a tiny, blissed-out Buddha swaying on her nappy-clad butt, too content to open her eyes.
Where is that soporific tot of yore now, as floppy as narcoleptic pasta? These days I’m the Woman Who Cannot Sleep. The woman who lies rigid, clock-watching, or
You’re reading a preview, subscribe to read more.
Start your free 30 days