The hardest days...

These past few days have been craziness, in a very positive way. I discussed with my husband the possibility of hosting an online sale, since there was a tumbleweed running through my fanpage and we wanted to take as much spending money as possible to Disneyland in less than two weeks. For those of you not in the know (although I think all four of you who actually read this are IN the know), Sarah is getting her wish granted through the Make A Wish Foundation in 10 days! Her wish was to go to Disneyland. She went once before, on my 30th birthday (HA! I "accidentally" typed "20th"...Freudian slip much? lol), just two months before she was diagnosed with ALL. I look back at the pictures of her then, cute little pigtails, chubby little baby face streaked with cotton candy and whatever else my mom said she could have despite my protests, and I think I should have known. While we were waiting in line for the Haunted Mansion (yes, OUR baby rode the Haunted Mansion at 18 months and didn't even blink, she is THAT fearless!), I noticed a gray hair while she rode on her father's shoulders. When I mentioned it to Dr. Asshole Rockstar, he of course told me it was nothing. It happens. But I should have known then. Anyway, it is what it is, but for the following two years, sick or not, Miss Bossy Boots has been begging us to take her back to the Happiest Place on Earth, and it broke our hearts to have to explain to her why we couldn't take her. So we planned a trip. Two years from now, my mom was going to trade in her time share, and we were going to save, save, save for the "Fake-cation" of a lifetime in sunny Aneheim, CA. By then, I imagined that she would at least have a cute little Snow White-esque bob, and she would dress like a different princess every day. Then the social worker at the hospital asked if Sarah had been granted a wish, and long story short, we got our "Fake-cation" a lot sooner, and totally paid for. So, I knew then her hair wouldn't be as long when we got to go, but still I envisioned this, and I kept this vision in my head during the hardest of days...during the hospital stays, during the blood transfusions and the countless hours in the ER, and especially the LP's that KILL me every single time she has to endure them.

Sarah just had an LP today, so allow me to digress a bit, dear reader, to impart to you the images that are still fresh in my mind. LP's are Lumbar Punctures, better known to the layperson as a "spinal tap". Basically, they inject chemo drugs into her spinal column to prevent the cancer from spreading to her nervous system, including her brain. She has them every few months or so, and she has had at least 20 during the course of her treatment over the past two years. So you would think that these LP's would become as routine as everything else us "cancer moms" have to go through, right? I mean, after all, I can speak "cancer-ese" with the best of them. Over the past two years, I have learned an entirely new vocabulary set. LP, PT, 6MP (aka Mercaptopurine), Methotrexate, Dexamethasone, flush the line, port access, lymphoblasts.I can tell at a touch whether or not Sarah is spiking a fever. I routinely pack a lunch for OPI (another vocab term), because they only feed her, and her little body loves to surprise us with the necessity for transfusions that take four hours or more. I am used to all of this. I no longer have to ask doctors to explain when they speak "cancer-ese" to each other, and they no longer bother to dummy it down for me. I am, after two years, an old hand at this. I follow every instruction to the letter, I never miss appointments, I am never late without a damn good reason. I call ahead. You would think the LP's would be just as routine, that we would be just as used to it as all the rest.

I'm not even sure what it is. Because all the rest of it is routine. I don't stop to think about the gravity of it all, I just do what needs to be done. Blood? Sure. Platelets, fill 'er up. Hospital stay? Not ideal, but whatever. But the very mention of an upcoming LP will begin to twist my stomach into knots. I'm not sure what it is. Routinely, an LP goes like this: The child is sedated with two drugs, versed and ketamine. This puts the child into a "twilight" sleep, which means they're not totally under, but they are sedated enough to where they won't fight, and one of the drugs helps to block their memory so that they won't really remember the procedure. As soon as the child goes under, the parent leaves the room. A few minutes later, the parent is retrieved, and the child is monitored with those science fiction-y electrodes. Her finger or toe is hooked up to a Pulse-aux machine, which measures her heart rate (the little sticker that goes on her finger or toe has a red light on it, so we call this "ET toes", because they usually put it on her toe to keep her from taking it off). The child is monitored until they are showing signs of being back to normal, and then they are released. Not too bad right?

UH-UH....Excruciatingly HORRIBLE to endure as a parent. See, the scenario I just described is if the child COOPERATES, which my child, of course, does not. Sarah is smart. Sarah is a watcher. She likes to see what's going on. She likes to be in the middle of everything. She does not like to lack focus or control. So for her, being sedated is a form of torture, because these drugs affect her as if she were very, very drunk. Slurred speech, double vision, etc. So she fights. They push the drugs through her line, and as soon as she realizes she's going under, she freaks. It's like watching your child being pulled out of your arms, screaming and yelling for you, and there is nothing you can do. Then, the drugs start to take effect, and that sparkle, that light that I so love about Sarah's eyes, goes out, and there is nothing. A dead stare. Cold, gone. Nothing. And I hold her, and I look, and I force a smile because it's what she needs from me, reassurance that everything is okay, because behind those dead eyes is my baby, frightened and fighting to push through the drugs back to consciousness. So I smile. And I look my baby in those dead, cold eyes, and I coo to her that everything is going to be okay, because somewhere within me I know that when this is all over in just a matter a minutes, it will be. Then comes the really hard part, as if this wasn't bad enough. First, Sarah is now old enough and smart enough to know what the "little white room" is for, so even sedated, trying to get her in there is like trying to bathe a cat. She screams and clings to me, climbing up  my body as though something were chasing her. Not only do I have to take her in this room that frightens her so anyway, I have to turn around and LEAVE HER THERE. In good hands, of course, but I have to fight every motherly instinct that I have in order to do it. But I do, then I get to go sit in the waiting room, and fight the urge to cry for the longest five minutes of my life. Believe it or not, this is really the only time that I feel the need to break down, these LP days, and I CAN'T.

So now that I've terrified and made the reading of this sufficiently awkward, I think you can understand now if you didn't before just how special this trip is to us. For five whole days, our family will be together, all of us. For five days, all we will have to worry about is being overly gluttonous. My little princess is going to Disneyland bald-headed, but I have a bow and a headband for every single outfit. Daddy can play and doesn't have to look at the clock. Mommy can let the kids be kids and eat junk three meals a day. Mommy doesn't have to be the heavy and say no for FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Ama can buy Sarah whatever she wants, and Mommy won't say a word.When Sarah sees the castle at the beginning of any Disney movie, she screams as loud as she can, "DISNEYLAND!!!!"  In just 10 days, she will be there for real.

I had no idea when I posted the sale that so many people would participate, much less leave such generous donations. I feel so loved, and so blessed, both for myself and for our family, especially Sarah. I am so, so blessed to have such kind hearted, generous people in my life, whether I have formally made their acquaintance or not, and it is people like these and their encouragement and emotional support that get me through these difficult days.

Randomness...

It is 1:29 AM, and I cannot sleep, so I shall subject you all to my wanton randomness...Sure, there are countless other things I could be/should be doing right now,  but who folds laundry at 1:30 in the morning? I could be studying for that notary public thing (see? Randomness...), but I just plain don't wanna....I have run out of things to read, my book is at a standstill (although if this doesn't make me feel sufficiently accomplished and sleepy, I may just dust it off and write some shitty paragraphs, anyway, just to say I did), and there is nothing, I mean NOTHING on cable, because everyone else has a life and is either still out or passed out by now. That never fails to trip me out, cable. two thousand channels, and nothing on that is worth watching, but cancel it, and you may as well be living in a cave. My husband is working (yes, on a Saturday...poor guy) and the baby is FINALLY asleep, in her bed, and has stayed that way for the past three hours! So what to do with myself and my randomly set internal clock that is still used to being smothered and elbowed by my adorable insomniac toddler right about now? Regale you all with my randomness, and put my lack of sleep to good use, that's what. But see, here's the thing about randomness...it's random. There is no point to any of this, and by the time I'm done, you will all feel cheated and demand the last five minutes of your life back. The point is, there is no point. I'm bored. I'm tired, but not sleepy. Apparently, the only people awake at this hour are either not home or really, really like soft core porn, because that's all that's on. And I need to feel like I did something, so here it is. Randomness, for your reading pleasure.

FACEBOOK IS NOT YOUR DIARY!!!

Okay, so I will probably get in trouble for this, but it's late and I haven't slept in a week because the Roid Rage Monster is visiting our house again, so I soooo don't care right now because this is something I've been wanting to get off my chest for awhile. I have noticed some "trends" on facebook that I find offensive/off-putting/slightly annoying, and I've been wanting to comment on it for awhile, but I didn't want to offend anyone else. That being said, I'm a writer. They say "write what you know", and if I don't, then I guess I am doing myself and my craft an injustice of some sort...orrrr, it was bugging me enough that I just had to say something, so here goes...

FACEBOOK IS NOT YOUR DIARY!

1. I don't care who you're sleeping with, when, where or how. Especially how. You're having sex, good for you. You are obviously proud of your "accomplishment" or you wouldn't be shouting it from the virtual rooftops, but seriously, don't care...

2. Don't bash your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/kids/boss/best friend, only to tell me two posts later how wonderful they are. It makes one look bipolar when he/she posts "I'M SO GOING TO DIVORCE HIS ASS!" and then you post a cute picture of the two of you...I understand all couples have their ups and downs, I understand that it can be validating to get support when you are frustrated, I just think that saying things you don't mean should be a habit to get out of, both on and off facebook...

3. Posting on someone's wall is NOT the same thing as sending them a message! There are some things that should remain "just between friends"...like a picture of the two of you wasted at last night's party...where she's holding your hair back...

4. Ladies, I love you, and I embrace your feminine power, but I do not need to see your boobs, self-shot or otherwise...cover 'em up girls, less is more! 

I'm sure there are more, if I really sat and thought about it, but these are the ones that bug me the most, so they were the ones that came to mind first. Don't get me wrong. I love facebook! I am on facebook all the time, and I think it is a very useful and valuable tool for many things, especially keeping in touch with old friends. But in real life and on the web there is such a thing as too much information, call me old fashioned! I guess I'll sign off now, so I don't have to watch my number of friends decrease, but take this with a grain of salt. This is my opinion. They are just general observations and I am posting them here, mainly because I am sure you have seen the same things that I have, and I thought the two of you who actually read my blog would get a kick out of it and be proud that I actually wrote something for once. My intention was not to offend anyone, nor am I referring to anyone in particular. Take it with the humor in which it was intended, and if you cannot, then maybe you should rethink that next post...just sayin'...

The little things...

Okay, so lately I have been having these crazy days, the kind of days that pass in a dream-like state, the kind of days that seem like they didn't even happen. Be it exhaustion or cabin fever, or just plain good ol' fashioned ennui, I have not exactly been present lately. I go through the motions, do what I have to do, I feign smiles for my daughters' sake, but I haven't really been here, and I'm not exactly sure why, but there it is. My astonishing admission that I do not live to clean the poop off the potty seat or pick up Daddy's socks (again). Then today, I get an e-mail from a fellow cancer mom who has it so much worse than me. Way worse. And I get to thinking, about how lucky I am, despite it all, how I need to practice what I preach, follow my own advice, believe in my own bullshit.

"What can I say?" is what everyone says when they are at a loss for words because they never thought they would have to be in the position they are in, but I know better than most what to tell her to bring her some modicum of comfort, because I have been there. Maybe not quite where she is, but close. I tell her, as cliched as it may sound, to take comfort and reward in the little things. As cancer moms, we can't parade around the mall with our babies, secretly having a baby beauty contest in our heads (don't scoff, you KNOW you do it, too). We can't go to the park, or to play group. My daughter will never bring home her first art project from preschool, because she will never go to preschool.

And that sucks. Hard. But it is what is. We do not have the trophies that should be every mother's right to bear, we have crosses instead. But what we are left with is a strength that these mothers don't have, and God willing, will never have to have. We are left with children that are resilient and strong as well. We are left with the little victories that most mothers take for granted, even find annoying at times.

Take grass stains, for example. The other day, Mike gave me a break (in which I should have been writing, but instead I decided to tackle Mount Laundry, what the hell is wrong with me?) and had Sarah outside all day, and I do mean ALL DAY, sunup to sundown. Now, he's a dad, which by definition means he pays for the expensive Gymboree clothes but is not careful about staining the expensive Gymboree clothes, and it does not even phase him that she probably shouldn't be playing in the expensive Gymboree clothes if she expects to get more than one use out of them, because I hate taking my daughter out in dirty clothes. So there I am a few days later, trying to pre-treat grass stains that have been sitting for a few days, because Mike also gave her a bath that day, which means that I didn't see the grass stains when I could have possibly salvaged the expensive Gymboree clothes. And I am smiling. An outfit ruined by grass stains, every mother's nightmare, right? Not me. I am scrubbing the grass stains out of the knees, and I am smiling. I'm not even pissed that this expensive outfit is now forever banished to the play clothes drawer after she has worn it once.

I am smiling because when she was diagnosed at 20 months old, she stopped walking for two months. For two months, my baby did not move unless I moved her. For two years, I had to keep her locked inside this house, to keep her safe. Grass stains were not on my radar. Grass stains have never before existed in the world of Sarah before this. I have cleaned a great many stains out of Sarah's clothes in the past two years. Various chemo drugs, urine, blood. Never grass stains. So those scratchy patches of green on her knees are welcome in my eyes, because we have earned them. Those stains are a badge of honor, a rite of passage that most mothers take for granted and even complain about, but I smile because those stains are a victory, a step toward normalcy for Sarah, a small step toward being like other kids. It may not seem like much, but you have to take what you can get.

I talked to this mother, I give her my advice, and I realize that I myself must follow it. I need to be present for my daughters and revel in the little things because these are the things that are so easily forgotten but that matter so much, at least to those savvy enough to pay attention.

The kindness of strangers...

Okay, so I know it's been awhile since my last blog (forgive me, Committee, for I have sinned!) but there has been a lot going on. Sarah coming down off of the methotrexate, plus being three and spoiled as hell, has made her super crabby for one, and we are working very hard to get the diva out of her. There has also been some minor drama, nothing that couldn't be dealt with, just enough to keep me mildly stressed as usual and away from the computer.

Amidst all this stress, I decide to decompress one day a few weeks ago, and I decide to go on one of my famous web-hunts (well, they're famous in this house). Here's how it works: I get a crazy idea or see a commercial for something my already-too-spoiled little princess just HAS to have, and then I spend hours searching for it on the internet until I find one at a reasonable price. Well, only sometimes does it take hours, but you get the point. Ironically, although it sounds like a lot of work, it de-stresses me, takes my mind off things, gives me something frivolous to focus on for awhile. So I was on such a hunt, this time for a special edition mini Lalaloopsy doll that was coming out for Easter, which I thought would be perfect for Sarah's Easter basket. She has been through so much this year, and I thought it would make her happy to see it in her basket. The doll was only available at Target, and I had already looked at the two stores in my area, nothing. So I turned to the Lalaloopsy facebook community and posted a simple query: does anyone know where I can find this doll in our area? I just didn't want to be driving around on a fool's errand when i have precious little free time, you know? So, I posted it.

Then, impatient little monkey that I am, I went on ebay, found one that wasn't outrageously priced, and just bought it outright. There, done, hunt over. Imagine my surprise when someone offered to send her one for free on the spot! Sure, I had one coming, but now she would have two little bunnies to decorate her basket with! I was overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation. Then another person offered to send her one, then another. By this time, I was in shock! And tears, too, truth be told. It has not been an easy ride, and I have had a small handful of friends and family that I have been able to depend on, no questions asked. It made me feel like I wasn't alone. The topper on the cake? The lady I bought the doll from on ebay sent me a message, cancelled my paypal transaction, and sent the doll to Sarah as a gift. In all, Sarah received eight mini Lalaloopsy dolls, including the one my mom bought prior to all of this. She carries them with her everywhere in her Peter Rabbit bookbag and plays with them all day long. It made her Easter, which is good because it rained and that put a damper (so to speak!) on the Easter egg hunting...

It's nice to know that people care, even if you've never met them, that in this world where everyone is talking about Lindsay Lohan, and why she can't stay out of jail and/or rehab, Kobe Bryant and why he can't seem to keep his nose clean and his mouth shut, and Charlie Sheen ('nuff said...), that there are some parts of the world that have not gone completely insane. During this whole process with Sarah's cancer, you would be surprised to know that people are not always kind and generous, even people you think you can count on. People can always surprise you, both in good ways and in bad. The people you thought for sure would be there aren't. and even worse, sometimes they even add insult to injury, like I'm not going through enough. And then there are times like these, where you start to believe in humanity again, where people surprise you in the best of all possible ways, by showing you how generous and kind their souls truly are. Thank you, April McDonald, Yvette Galvez, Melissa Pelletier, and Margo Nuno, for reaching out to a fellow human being in need and making a little girl's Easter "eggstra" special! (Sorry, but I had to...I HAD TO!!!) :)

I know, I know...

Okay, so I know, I totally effed up the new year's resolution thing, and it's only March, but I think I have a pretty good excuse! It has been a CRAAAAZY three months! But tonight, Miss Boots has declared that she is sleeping with Ama tonight. I am rendered completely unnecessary, and I don't know quite what to do with myself. I should be threatening Sarah to sleep right about now ("I'm going to turn off the tv...okay, then go to sleep..."). Now what? Oh, yeah, that thing I said I would do...

It's been a crazy ride, and I have blogged about all of it in my head at least a dozen times, but can never quite get a chance to sit in front of the computer uninterrupted for long enough to get my thoughts down. The doctors have changed the protocol for leukemia patients, and Sarah got another cycle of chemo thrown in, which includes pumping her full of toxic chemicals every other week during a scheduled hospital stay. Not exactly how I would like to spend every other weekend, but hey. Miss Boots has gone through it all right, except for the mood swings. Now, the doctors have assured me that moodswings, especially this violent, are not supposed to be a side effect for the medication they are giving her. But fatigue is. And Sarah wouldn't take a nap by choice if you paid her, so she spends all day fighting her fatigue, which makes her cranky, and I get to hold her down as she thrashes and screams, remain calm while she screams the ugliest things that every parent dreads they will one day hear from their children, and be ready and willing to forgive with open arms when she is ready to apologize. It has been hard, and then there is the break in routine I discussed in a previous blog, only now it's worse, because as soon as we get settled and back on track, it's time to go to the hospital again. Thankfully, this weekend should be the last hospital stay (scheduled, anyway) and then she should go back into maintenance when things should settle down tremendously.

Another thing keeping me busy and off the computer during my "free" time? Beads of Courage. Beads of Courage is an organization that gives beads for every thing the child goes through while undergoing treatment. Every time they poke her, every time she goes to clinic, every time she gets chemo, every physical therapy appointment, every transfusion, gets a different colored bead, and it all gets added to a necklace that is a Telling Rope of sorts that will help Sarah to tell the story of all she has endured. A beautiful concept, really, poetic and inspiring, and heartbreaking in its simplicity and depth; however, it would have been more convenient for me had they told me they were going to do this in the beginning of her treatment so that I could have kept a diary or at least kept better track of her records. Instead, they tell me almost TWO YEARS LATER, and now I have the fun project of digging through two years' worth of incomplete paperwork (I stopped taking some of them after awhile, there were just too many) to tally how many times she has been in the hospital, for how many days, how many times they have poked her, etc. My final tallies are guesstimates at best, but it's better than nothing because I really want Sarah to have her necklace, even if it isn't entirely accurate. She's just going to have to forgive me for that, among all of the other ways that I fall short.

I have also been spending more time with my daughter, working on math and reading concepts, and she is really doing quite well for a three year old. Sarah now knows half of the alphabet out of order with their phonetic sounds, and can count to 15 without help, to 20 with help, and can recognize her numbers up to 10 out of order with 90% accuracy.

The novel, the diet, the exercise, all have fallen by the wayside, but they are ever present in the back of my mind, the novel especially. I am constantly making little notes, reading books that could possibly inform me better of the time period, or the social setting, little tidbits here and there as far as plot and storyline, but no actual work yet.

The blog seems more do-able as far as writing goes, and there are a few things still that I want to document, little significant things that have happened, but as they are so varied in nature, it would seem too disjointed to add them here. Another blog, another day...I promise...

The hospital...

So, I haven't blogged in awhile because Sarah ended up in the hospital for a fever, yet again, and I was away from home for about a week. We have been home for a week, but it always takes a week to get Sarah back into her normal routine. I have heard tell from the nurses that this is the case with many parents who call the hospital their "home away from home" as we do. Bottom line, the hospital is sort of a vacuum, an alternate universe where time does not exist. Unless she has a roommate, Sarah can be up at 3 am, eating, and it's perfectly okay because she's not disturbing anyone but me. The nurses find it endearing, because they slept all day. I even find it endearing, because I have learned that when in the hospital, it is best to go back into "newborn mode"...sleep while she sleeps, or forever hold your peace...Then we get home, and it's not so cute when she wants to eat at 3 am, or when she stays awake until midnight when i have to get up at 5 am...

Not that we were getting that much sleep in the hospital. Because of her fevers, Sarah gets her vitals checked every two hours. If she has a fever, she gets Tylenol every four hours. Now, Sarah is so used to this that she can sleep right through it, blood pressure, temperature, even the meds. But me, they have to inform me of everything that's going on, which I appreciate, but it's not doing much for me by way of sleep. Now, most nurses are stealthy as ninjas, come in, do what they have to do, silently and in the dark, and leave without you ever knowing they were there. Some will even change the baby's diaper. This is the best kind of nurse, the kind I thank God for every night in my prayers. Then, Lord bless them, there are the kind of nurses that seem to crash into everything, make as much noise as possible, and wake me up needlessly to tell me unnecessary things. "Mrs. Gomez, I left her medication right there so you can give it to her when she wakes up." Um...yeah...if she doesn't need to take it NOW, why the @#$% are you waking me up? I will wake up LATER, make her take it LATER, and if I have any questions I will call you! Jeez...I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to make the staff play Skip to my Lou, (for some reason, they make the nurses rotate every so often now, so nurses from other floors and departments work in Oncology now) but it was a HORRIBLE idea! These are usually the nurses who wake me up, give me useless information, and enforce stupid rules from other floors onto me.

So, a week of this, and Sarah is happy as a clam because they treat her like a princess and she sleeps whenever she wants, and Momma is ready to kill everyone because I'm missing a week's worth of shuteye. Then, God smiles down on me, and we get to come home! Yay! But Sarah is not so happy because she knows that as soon as we get home, things go back to normal, and that is not good.

So here we are, a week after being home, and only tonight did I get Sarah to go to bed on time and stay in bed. This whole ordeal with getting her to sleep would be HILARIOUS if it wasn't happening to me. It goes a little something like this lately:

8:00 pm-I start warning Sarah that it's almost time for her bath, so it's last call for snacks and playing. She throws a fit, screams "NO!!!!" then throws a Barbie or two across the room, and today, as an added bonus, she threw a chair. Lovely. I make her go to her mad corner, she goes, comes back two seconds later all smiles.

8:15-I tell Sarah it is now time to pick up her toys and get ready for her bath. Again, she screams "NO!!!" throws less toys than before, but still throws at least one, then bursts into tears and cries, "I don't WANT to take a bath!" I ignore her, she gets the hint and begins to pick up her toys, then announces proudly, "I did it, Momma!"

8:20ish-Meds, then we make our way to our room, where she starts playing with the toys in there, while I pull some pajama choices out of the drawer. I ask her which, she ignores me because she is playing with her toys. I give up after asking her three times to come and choose, and pick a pair myself. Sarah comes along, and says, "No, Momma, not that one!" Grrr...

8:25ish-Sarah picks out three or four books she wants me to read, NOW, when she knows story time is after bath and before bed, and I have already told her five times that she gets only one book before bed. She relents without a fight, (thank GOD!) and chooses one book. She picks a towel, makes me put it on my head, and we march in a line toward the bathroom.

8:30-I give Sarah her bath, which takes five minutes for all practical purposes, but thirty minutes while she plays with Creepella and the other mermaids.

9:00 pm-I pull Sarah out of the bath, put her pajamas on, brush her teeth, all the while trying to move fast enough to match the commands she is barking at me like this is Baby Boot Camp. "Put cream on my belly! I need socks! Where's my chupie?!"

9:05-Storytime...I read one book, preferably a short one, and Sarah is content. I finish, announce bedtime, and she insists on another. Not wanting to curb her enthusiasm for literature, I relent and read at least one more book, then end up reading the whole stack she picked out before her bath. Sigh.

9:15 (if I'm lucky)-Sarah finally climbs into bed, I cover her up, give her a hug and a kiss, and make sure she has everything she needs.

9:16 "I have to go potty."

9:17 (in the bathroom still) "i'm not done yet!" (She has been sitting there doing nothing, wants to chat, read her books, all of which I have denied, then get fed up and try to pull her off the potty.)

9:18-Sarah gives up, we wash up, replace the pull-up she has already peed in (regression in potty training is another lovely side-effect of our hospital stays), and I settle her back in bed.

9:20 "I want chocolate milk."
9:21-After a short argument, I make my way to the kitchen for the @#$% chocolate milk...
9:22-Sarah is quietly drinking her chocolate milk
9:24-"My legs hurt. I need Vick's."
9:30-"My tummy hurts."
9:31-"I have to go potty"
9:40-clean up and back to bed after another fruitless potty attempt.
I could go on, but imagine another THREE HOURS OF THIS, and finally, she drifts off to sleep around midnight. Keep in mind, if I deny her anything she has asked for, she throws a screaming fit, which gets louder the longer I ignore it, but ignoring it seems to be the only way to get it to stop. Being forceful only seems to escalate it. So, needless to say that by midnight, I am EXHAUSTED!!! I think she's worn herself out, too, because tonight she went down without a fight and has stayed asleep the entire time, and it is now 11:30. Success!!! Only took me a week...but now I can't sleep! Hence, the lengthy blog...oh, well...did I mention that she is not only asleep, but in her own bed? I suppose I should be thankful for the little things...and get to bed before she decides to wake up! :)