I hate being home alone at night. Last night Chris didn't get home until after 11. I tried to make good use of my alone time by going to bed at 9, but falling asleep wasn't happening. I tried to pray myself to sleep figuring the rosary would knock me out. I mean, whenever we pray a family rosary at night I pretty much have to slap myself in the face to stay awake. No such luck last night. I watched an hour long episode of the Journey Home and still I couldn't sleep. Then just as I was getting down to the serious business of telling my inner voice, "SHUT UP and let me sleep I do not want to think about remodeling or raising honey bees or moving back home or any of this cray cray so STOP talking to me," I heard some noises.
There was definitely some loud floor creaking going on in the kids' room. Maybe Lenny waking up? Carolina standing up in the crib? So I went to check on them and they were sleeping soundly. Ok, whatever, house. You're weird and please be quiet. I shut the door on them and went to lay down and heard it again. So then my inner dialogue started to get loud.
Obviously there's a murderer in their room with a knife ready to slice their little throats as soon as I fall asleep. No there's not. You're dumb.
This is why I hate being alone at night. Cause it gives all my crazy thoughts free rein to drag me down the wild path of stupid paranoid panic.
Of course I had to go back in and check on them and look in the closet, behind the door, and under the crib.
No murderer in here. Windows and doors are all locked. Aren't they? Yes, Duh.
I checked all doors and windows. All locked.
Maybe the murderer came in through an unlocked door and locked it up behind him. Nope. Dumb. Shut up brain.
I heard another creak at the bottom of the stairs.
Oh heck no I'm not going to check for no murderer down in the dark basement he can rot down there along with the spiders and roaches. Good. Cause there's no one down there. And no roaches either crybaby.
So I got in bed and tucked every inch of my body up to my neck under the blanket.
Murderers can't get me if I'm under the blanket, right? Am I a bad mother for protecting myself in here and leaving the kids to fend for themselves? I bet they're both under blankets so they're fine. Blankets can't save you. Then why does it feel so good. Go to sleeeeeeeep.
Then I finally heard the car pull in the driveway.
THANK GOD Chris is home.
Hopefully one day when my kids read this they will understand that I am a lunatic and forgive me for my shoddy parenting and have mercy on my in my old age.
