You’re not supposed to decide what your child is going to be when he grows up, and certainly not when he’s only five weeks old. But I’ve decided: my infant son is going to be a foley artist. You know, one of those people who make the sound effects on radio dramas. I realize that, in the 21^st century, this pretty much limits him to the one remaining gig on A Prairie Home Companion, but I think he’s got a pretty good shot. In the middle of the night, he makes the most incredible sound effects. He does a convincing runaway stallion, the creaky basement door from a B horror flick, and - his best one by far - the bad boy peeling out of his girlfriend’s driveway in his red Camaro. It’s as impressive as it sounds. But there’s one problem with his budding talent: I can’t sleep through it. At all. As if the sleep deprivation from being up when he’s awake weren’t bad enough, I’m also up when he’s asleep.