Nocturnal Visits
Having written that title brings to mind the wonderful, unforgettable day when Doctor Dash learned about pinworms in medical school. Apparently, pinworms go out for what the medical establishment calls “a nocturnal stroll.” I know, it’s too good. Now, I’m not sure if I’m making this part up, but I think that the way you diagnose pinworms is by waiting near the afflicted person’s buttocks armed with nothing more than scotch tape and a little patience, and when the pinworms grab their galoshes and head out for their nocturnal stroll you pounce on them with the tape and voila!
I MUST be making this up. But I’m going to let it stand because, like I said . . . it’s too good.
Anyway, that was not at all where this entry was going. Our particular wee nocturnal visitor is, fortunately, not a parasite but the inimitable Supergirl. She has been showing up in our room in the middle of the night for the past week and a half or so. Sometimes she’s crying that her legs hurt and oh, how I feel for her on those nights. I remember those growing pains where your bones and muscles and sinews throb as they stretch and pull into new space. Doctor Dash doesn’t recall having had growing pains, but I sure do. Usually a little Tylenol and leg rubbing does the trick.
On other nights Supergirl claims to have had a nightmare. Again, I feel for her. I remember vivid dreams where a bad man was chasing me through a forest, but I couldn’t run, I couldn’t get traction. Other times someone was taking my mom in a parking lot and I couldn’t scream. The feeling of terror and impotence (maybe impotence is the definition of terror) upon awaking is still so palpable to me. I also dreamt of flying around in a hula hoop and swimming on the back of a dolphin, so it wasn’t all bad.
The thing is, we don’t buy that she’s having nightmares every night. More likely she gets up to pee and it’s just as easy to come to our bed as it is to return to hers. I do have to admit that she’s very sweet and knocks quietly at the door before handing us her bogus story. Since this has been going on for a while, our reception of her is more of the mumbling and grumbling variety. My sleep is very precarious. If someone wakes me up in the middle of the night, there is a really good chance I won’t get back to sleep, which results in hours of tossing and turning, an eventual trip downstairs to eat Frosted Flakes and watch TV, and a relentless search for a flashlight or batteries for a flashlight so I can read myself back to sleep. It’s annoying to say the least.
But here’s the thing. Supergirl is one independent little chick. At the tender age of five, she’s already pretty self-sufficient and trustworthy. She picks out her own clothes and dresses herself; she rides a bike with no training wheels and knows to ask if she wants to go beyond our agreed-upon perimeter; she swims like a fish, goes off the diving board and has a way of checking in with me from time to time at the pool just before I start to wonder where she is. She is not a snuggler like Saint James and does not give or ask for much by way of physical affection. If she wants to tuck her little body between us for a while at night, why would I object? She may not be having nightmares, but surely she has a reason for this little phase. We need to enjoy her nocturnal visits while they last.
And maybe spring for a king-size bed.
