Last night my son woke up crying seven times in the night. Seven! How I wished I had a copy of Adam Mansbach’s best-selling, expletive-laced bedtime story on hand: Go the F**k to Sleep.
Though at age four Bennett is a little old for nursery rhymes, at 3 a.m. (wake-up No. 5), my inner mean-mommy would have relished reading him these lines:
“The eagles who soar through the sky are at rest / And the creatures who crawl, run and creep. / I know you’re not thirsty. That’s bullshit. Stop lying. / Lie the fuck down, my darling, and sleep.”
Instead I sternly admonished Bennett for his repeated wake-ups, told him it was the middle of the night and to go (the f**k) to sleep. Except I didn’t drop the F-bomb, I just said it in my head. The problem is, if I swore a lot when exasperated, pretty soon my kids would start saying things like, “Where the f**k are my snowpants?” or “I f**king hate fish sticks!” So probably best to only fantasize about a middle-of-the-night F-bomb tirade.
Still, if you know some new parent zombies who can’t get their baby to sleep, give the gift of humour this year. And if you need a laugh, listen to Samuel L. Jackson reading the book on YouTube.