Not to put too fine a point on it: My father is barely older than me. On an even finer point, and my mother won’t mind me putting on the internet what is common knowledge, I was conceived – two virgins having falling in love and first time. You can’t beat it. No wonder, I am so healthy. I was born before either of them had a chance or a choice to wreck their bodies. Not that either ever did.
So it is with some dismay I have learned just now that Mick Jagger has fathered yet another child at the age of 73. I am sorry, guys. It’s disgusting. Not the fact that he shags a 29 year old. Do whatever you like. With a goat if all else fails. But FATHERING a child at any age over, say – for sake of argument – fifty? Nah. If you have to prove your manhood go fell a tree. Do time travel. Become a Viking. Invade England.
To put it another way: Just because you CAN doesn’t mean you should.
Marvel at nature. There is a reason women’s fertility shutting down before their eggs’ use by date. Jagger will go on forever. I can’t wait till he is a few years older. Kick a football with yet another son at age 100? And I am letting Rod Stewart off lightly – not because I like him but because he is short. As is Jagger – come to think of it.
I have so enchanted myself re-reading my last blog post and comments I’ve forgotten why I was recharging the comp and what I was going to spout about.
Yes, sleep. Elusive. Again. Never really liked sleep. You don’t know what’s going on when asleep. Nightmares. Dreams. Sometimes I wake myself talking out aloud. Which beats not waking up at all.
Virtually all people in my life, and that includes you – my dear readers and my mother – adore sleep. It’s a mystery to me unless you are under twenty five [years of age].
Having said that I do realize that sleep is important to keep you compos mentis. Yes, good old sanity. Had good reason to cry tonight. Then remembered the old saying “crying yourself to sleep”. Doesn’t work. Not for me.
Best sleeplessness and with a purpose was when the Angel was little. The first fifteen months of his life I never had more than 2.5 hours sleep at a stretch. Tiny stomachs need to be refilled at short intervals (Looney, newly made grandfather take note). No matter, during the day the Angel and I slept side by side when he slept. In tune as it were.
One of the truly worst sleepless nights ever? Don’t ask. And don’t laugh. Or do. It was the first night (he was fourteen months) when he slept right through. I was frantic. Kept checking every few seconds whether he was still alive. He was. Even in the morning. Waking to a mother basically dead but still on her feet. I have calmed down since then.