We’ve lived here for two months now, and in that time I haven’t had one good night’s sleep. I wake up multiple times a night.  My dreams are weird and close to the surface. There’s a ritual bathroom run at 3am. It’s annoying.

Up until now, I have prided myself on my ability to sleep. I fell asleep in every class I ever took. In the dentist chair. During movies.  At stoplights.

My first thought is to blame the bed. It’s too big.We moved into a furnished apartment here in Virginia—upgrading us to a king. We’ve had to string two tin cans together so we can still have pillow talk. And although Levi wants none of it, I’m a class five cuddler. The bigger bed is cramping my style.  On top of which, the mattress is just a touch too hard, the comforter a bit too heavy, etc. I’m yearning for our bed, the one that Levi bought to surprise me last year, the one that’s tucked away in some storage facility in Maryland.

Perhaps I’m just getting older. Isn’t it fact that something like fifty percent of women over the age fifty have insomnia in some form? Maybe this is early onset.

Maybe it’s a sign that I still haven’t settled here.

Maybe it’s because in less than year I’m MOVING TO AFRICA.

Maybe it’s the noise from the parking lot under our window.

Levi thinks it’s because I’m pregnant.

And while we’re at it, let’s blame the pregnancy for the nausea, the inertia, the weight gain, the exhaustion, the desire to vomit every time I take a drink of water.

Also going to blame the pregnancy for those giddy, bubbling feelings that often find Levi and I catching each other’s eyes and then laughing.

We’re thrilled.  Raise a glass to more and more sleepless nights.

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