Oo, little sleepy boy, do you know what time it is? Well the hour of your bedtime's long been past. And though I know you're fighting it, I can tell when you rub your eyes, you're fading fast, oh fading fast. Won't you run come see St. Judy's Comet
roll across the skies, and leave a spray of diamonds in its wake. I long to see St. Judy's Comet sparkle in your eyes when you awake, oh, when you wake, wake.
Little boy, won't you lay your body down? Little boy, won't you close your weary eyes? Ain't nothing flashing but the fireflies. Well I sang it once, and I sang it twice, I'm going to sing it three times more. I'm going to stay 'til your resistance
is overcome. 'Cause if I can't sing my boy to sleep, well it makes your famous daddy look so dumb, look so dumb... (St. Judy's Comet, by Paul Simon, ©1973)
Famous daddy, I am not, but I understand perfectly what inspired this song. Like father, like son, my little boy will fight with every ounce the idea of sleep. He cries when he's taken to his dark room and he gets near his crib. He cries and wiggles if you sit and rock him. He fusses and bobs his head up and down if you pat his back and talk softly to him. And if by chance he nods off for a few minutes and wakes up, you can bet that he will cry because he is mad that he fell asleep. His lower lip sticks out, his eyebrows scrunch together, and he huffs like he's been insulted. Of the two parents he had to take after when it came to sleep, why did he take after the wanna-be insomniac and not the wanna-be narcaleptic? Just wait until he's a teenager and wants to sleep all the time. I'll show him!