I understand now why the UN counts sleep deprivation as a form of torture.
I have seen its inky depths up close and I have named it. It was during one pitch of a night when I first saw the clock trace its way past every number, when my hand had long ago learned how to stretch and click the light on in one swift motion that I first dubbed it.
To start with it seemed my much-loved son was living up to his father’s legacy. He may have arrived as a considerate size, but genetics can be a curse as much as a blessing. And I don’t call my husband The …



