When I was a child, my love of bedtime was so great that it has now become the stuff of family legend.  My mother still tells the story about a family birthday party being held in my honor when I was turning 5.  The party was in the evening since my father and grandfather worked.  After time passed, my mother noticed that I wasn’t in the room any longer.  She did a quick check of the house only to find the birthday girl lying in bed, pajamas on, already tucked under the covers. 

“Why are you in bed?” she asked stunned. 

“It is 9 o’clock.” I said dryly.  “9 o’clock is my bedtime.” 

“But it’s your birthday!” she said.  “You can stay up past your bedtime on your birthday.”

“I go to bed at 9 o’clock,” I said.  That was it.  At the age of 5, I already declared last call for the birthday cake and shut that party down.  The year was 1978.  My relationship with sleep has been downhill since then.