Battle Hymns of a Hot Mess Mom

Here I am, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the wonders of the universe, like why do they call it “sleep like a baby” when babies are basically tiny insomniacs? Oh, the irony! But let’s not digress; we’ve got bigger fish to fry – like my transplant donor testing taking an extended vacation, leaving me hanging.

It’s 4:45am. I forgot to take my medication during the day and popped them in at 10:30pm last night which for some reason equated to me throwing up on and off until 2:30am. I decided to let J sleep and lay down in the office. I snoozed for maybe 30 minutes before the string of bathroom activities. J got up and released a demon of a fart and waited for a flush that seemed to be a long time and I think the quickest hand washing ever. 5 minutes later a little human proceeded to use the bathroom – we’ve been trying to name the culprit who is not flushing at night – so I listened for the flush. But I was fully prepared to scare the crap out of whichever little human that didn’t flush with a you didn’t flush version of “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” I got a flush and don’t think I heard hand washing…or it could have been another quick wash. Ew.

Back to my insomnia tonight. The fabulous world of “what-ifs” that my anxiety just loves to explore. What if my transplant is on a permanent coffee break? Either way, my mind’s really nailing the Olympic sport of overthinking. “Hey, just a friendly reminder that I’m not a fan of suspenseful plot twists. Could we please fast-track this transplant situation?” Counting the imaginary sheep that are all hopping over the fence with a swagger, mocking my inability to doze off. It’s not working. I’m trying to find humor in the absurdity of it all and remember that laughter is the best medicine.