Quiet

It seems as if every one of the bedsprings is against me. They cry out in unison at my incursion, and every shift of my weight brings more protests. As I slip beneath the sheets, I cringe at the screech of rough cotton being drug across the dry skin of my knees. Every twitch brings a cacophony, until at last, a reasonably comfortable position has been found.

But what is this tickle? It starts in the nostrils, but soon the whole nose is engulfed in a fire of anticipation. Never has the resistance to a bodily function been so important. No greater battle has been waged between man and himself. Until suddenly, and explosion. The sound rips through the night, destroying the last hour's work as the crying from across the room begins again in earnest. Wearily, the bed is abandoned and the mantle of parenthood is taken up again.