I, like many children, hated naps. I remember being put to bed after lunch, only to lie in bed and listen for the calming sound of my mother pouring coffee beans into the grinder, this the holy moment of her day when she was child-free and had a moment to herself. I was so attuned to the sound of those beans falling into the grinder that one time, when she poured some M&Ms into a glass bowl, I apparently shouted from my bedroom, “What are you eating?”
I was a precocious (obnoxious?) little thing. But all to say, that naps really weren’t my thing. I always felt that time could have been better put to use.
That opinion of naps carried over into adulthood. Why would I bother sleeping when there are so many more interesting things to be done?