So, I’m still singing the Pina Colada song, and I still have no idea if that is its actual name or not. If I wasn’t so lazy I’d google it, but alas. The thing about that song is that it is nearly impossible to sing along without belting out in an impassioned way “IF YOU LIKE MAKING LOVE AT MIDNIGHT”. I think I speak for mothers everywhere when I say, um, no, I don’t. (Or maybe I just speak for myself. My ideal scenario is that by midnight, I will have been sleeping for at least a couple of hours. I guess I’m more of an “Afternoon Delight” type of girl, so maybe not totally un-dateable in the 70’s.)
Not to brag or anything, but my husband is incredibly hot – in fact, if I were the editor of People magazine I would surely crown him “Sexiest Man Alive” year after year – but if he were to wake me up to suggest making love at midnight, my impulses would be more homicidal than erotic, if you know what I’m saying. After years of broken sleep (which is still all-too-often broken) I have one general rule: do not wake me up unless absolutely necessary.
Of course, this is partly hypothetical as it seems like my husband is actually physically unable to wake me up. During our recent bout of illness, apparently he had a prolonged and very loud middle-of-the-night coughing fit, throughout which I lay beside him comatose. After his coughing, Jake made a tiny “ahem” type of noise, and I bolted up, wide awake, and ran into his room. What can I say? It’s maternal programming.
Yeah, anyone waking me up at midnight who I haven’t given birth to is getting a black eye.
Although Afternoon Delight? After 3 children? No thank you. ONly the cover of darkness will do for my stretch marks, thank you.