I envy Little Guy. He can konk out anywhere, anytime. Usually, he’ll wake up cheery. At 6 a.m. On a Saturday. He’s been that way since he was a babe.

Not so Big Guy. He’ll hoot, holler, protest and refuse to close his eyes for at least an hour every night. He’s also been that way since he was a babe. I used to turn up the monitor to eavesdrop as he babbled himself to sleep.

As much as Big Guy and I joust each night, I can’t blame him. He’s not trying to be difficult — most of the time. He’s just being Big Guy.

And he gets it from me.

• Grade school, up until dawn reading “”Gone With The Wind”" during summer vacation at my mawmaw’s.
• High school, stuffing pillows under my bedroom door so the folks wouldn’t see my flashlight shining as I scored West Coast baseball games on the radio.
• College, surviving on four hours or so a night during the week and collapsing in a heap Friday nights. I’d regain consciousness sometime Saturday afternoon.

Weirdly — or maybe not — the only time I’ve slept well in my life was when I was pregnant with Little Guy. I’d be out like a light by 9 p.m. That never happened with Big Guy. It makes me wonder if a mother’s little tenant affects her body in ways other than morning sickness.

I’d like to blame the Web for my problem today, but there’s too much evidence that I was this way long before Al Gore invented the Internet. The online “”one more link then I’m signing off”" is just an extension of “”one more chapter then I’m closing the book.”" Though I do have to admit that I’d be better off if I spent more time sleeping and less time blogging about it.

So I’m trying to hassle Big Guy less about his night owl ways, though the boy has to be at school at 8 a.m. so I can’t let it go completely. Left to his own devices, he’d be up until dawn. Probably not reading “”Gone With The Wind,”" but he’d find some reason to stay awake.

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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