I had a heart attack today. Not in the physical sense, but in the metaphorical, soul crushing way that makes you question whether or not you actually shit your pants.
It all begins with Harrison, my 4 year old preschooler. He has not been sleeping well, which many moms of children can, I’m sure, relate to. He has been coming into our bed every. single. night. Which would be a non-issue, except that he kicks, and lays sideways, and rubs my back gently. (That last one might seem nice, except when you’re in the middle of REM sleep and you feel a tiny hand rubbing you ev-er so gently that you’re not even sure that you’re feeling anything, then you realize that you are and GOOD GOD GET IT OFF ME.) The last thing I want at 3 in the morning is someone, anyone touching me. *shivers* blech. I just want to sleep. THEN, he and I have been sick this past weekend, so sleep has been in short supply ’round these parts.
This lack of sleep leads me to the main issue here, I have started hallucinating. Not, like, full on schizophrenic hallucinations, but hallucinations none the less. The kind where you’re pretty sure that you saw a man walking to the mailbox, but it turns out that its actually a tree that’s been there since 1918. The kind where you’re pretty sure that there is a fly gunning for your face, but it turns out that there is actually a friendly fuzzy floating around. You get my drift.
SO! These slight hallucinations have started to become part of my life now. I’ve accepted them as part of my personality. Which is why the incident this morning should have been no surprise to me. But it was. It. So. Was.
I was walking around the house, getting dressed and what-not, when I realized that I needed to put deodorant on. I walked from my bedroom to the bathroom, realized that I wanted to put a bra on first, and turned around. For those of you who aren’t familiar with my house, my bathroom and bedroom are at the end of a very short hallway, adjacent to the dining room. You can see the family room from the bathroom, which is right across said hall from my bedroom. Its a tiny house. So, you can peer as you are walking out of the bathroom, and see the couch and T.V. Well, I peered and I saw (what I thought) was both Harrison and Delaney sitting on the couch watching T.V. So I mosey into my bedroom to put a bra on and to grab my sweatshirt from my closet. For those of you who, again, aren’t familiar with my house, my closet is huge. Its a long walk in with shelves at the end and both my husband and I’s dressers on the sides. Back to my (what should be really short, but turns out its not) story. I walk into my closet, grab my clothing items from my dresser and I start to take my shirt off. During this I was thinking, “Man, I still feel like crap. I wish that it wasn’t so cold in here. Do you think Jon would notice if I started keeping the heat at 73 degrees? SWEET MOTHER OF GOD THERE’S A DEMON CHILD, PLEASE DON’T LET THIS BE THE END. WHERE THE FUCK DID IT COME FROM? IS THIS SERIOUSLY HOW IT ENDS, LIKE A FUCKING HORROR MOVIE?!” I dropped to my knees (as my legs had gone weak, which is a real thing I can now attest to) and upon doing so realized that it wasn’t actually a demon spawn, but my sweet baby Delaney. A lone tear dropped to my cheek as I hugged her, thankful to both be alive and to not have to explain to the authorities why my daughter has bruises from being punt-kicked in the head. Biatch is like a stealth warrior ninja. I heard NOTHING, sensed nothing. Seriously, we need to get her in ninja training ASAP.
I need sleep.
I’ve included pictures for proof.