I admit. I love to sleep. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. I love that moment at the end of a long day when I can crawl into bed and shut my eyes. When I was younger, I could sleep anytime. My parents called me the champion sleeper because I would sleep in (when I could), take four hour long naps in the middle of the day and still be able to sleep at night. Nowadays, I don’t have time for naps during the week. It’s sad. So Sunday literally is a day of rest for me. When I get home from church, I grab a quick lunch (emphasis on quick) and go straight to bed. Sounds awesome, right?
Unfortunately, I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t feel old. But my body has apparently changed. I am sad to admit that I have discovered something that many people call insomnia. Yes, my friends, last night as my cute husband was snoozing soundly in the bedroom, I was in the living room, wide awake, looking for the most boring book I could find to try and lull me off to sleep. This wasn’t an entirely new occurrence. But it’s finally making sense. Every Sunday that I take a nap (not even a long nap because Hubby won’t let me sleep for more than an hour) I am up way past midnight wondering why I can’t sleep. I guess I am no longer the champion sleeper. Sadly, I’ll have to pass that title on to someone else.