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Existential Crisis

So the time rolls around again where I dump myself headlong into a mini sort of existential crisis. It happens a few times a year, more often recently. Not because I particularly have anything to get myself into a crisis over, I have everything I could ever want. An amazing son, wonderful husband, nice apartment, I live in a small but beautiful city. I have food on the table and clothes on my back. It's perhaps more because I'm really quite fond of hyperbole, therefore anything can trigger an existential crisis of epic proportions. Something like breaking a vase, or tripping on the edge of the rug. Just ask my husband about when he regularly hears banging and cursing coming from the kitchen, or last week when he told me I had "Computer Tourettes" while trying to work out how to order some books from Amazon.

Case in point, this particular crisis has been brought on by a rather nice mixture of my husband going away on TDY, my upcoming birthday and the fallout from reading Julie & Julia. Nothing life-shattering. In fact, I tend to be strangely unfazed by the real bad stuff in comparison. And trust me, we've had plenty of that too.

So I'm going to be moping around a bit and trying to find "The Meaning of My Life". Then I wont find it so I'll eat plenty of chocolate and watch some trash TV instead. Crisis averted. The world is at peace once again.

And so it goes.


In other news, we're getting a referral to the child psychologist for Mikey. I had my second therapy appointment last week, we ended up talking about sleep (or lack thereof) among other things and the subject of Mikey's night wakings came up. He's going to get me a referral so that we can go talk about ideas and options.

I'm secretly hoping that they might hypnotize Mikey - "You LOOOOOOVE sleeping... yes you love to go to sleep, it's your most favourite thing in the entire world" but really, he's just going to tell me to -
Read some book. I've read them all, no really. I can quote from them if you like?
Do a bedtime routine. Are you serious? It's set in stone.
Don't let him have sugar or caffeine before bed. Or how about not ever, seriously... he's not even two. He gets hyper from just seeing a dog, bird, car, his shoes etc. He doesn't need sugar and caffeine as well.
Let him cry. How about YOU listen to him crying for over an hour every 3 hours throughout every night for 2 weeks in a small apartment? p.s. you can still hear the crying when you have earplugs in. Yes those military ones.
Drug him. His pediatrician said to me at his last well baby appointment when I mentioned the sleeping - "You know Benedryl?" I said "Yeah but surely I can't use it every night?" She just raised an eyebrow. I'm not sure that it would even work anyway, when he had his operation last year they gave him something that was supposed to make him sleep so that they could administer the real anasthetic. He didn't fall asleep and just flopped around laughing like a drunk until it started to wear off.

So I'm not holding out a whole lot of hope. It might be nice to hear another person say "yeah, that's gotta be tiring" though. I feel like that sentance really validates my existance. Sleep is for the weak.

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I am a 24 year old British stay at home mother to a two year old boy. Married to a U.S. soldier and currently living in Germany.

I have seen the Vatican from the very top of St Peter's Basilica, the mud in the World War I trenches outside Ypres. I have walked through Montmartre side streets bustling with people in the evening, gotten lost in the streets of Greenwich Village NYC, run through cornfields on the Welsh border and sat outside with a cup of tea watching fireflies in the fields of the outer Chicago suburbs.

I have held the hands of others through addiction, fear, suicide, despair and come out the other side. I have left everything behind to begin anew.
I have fought mental illness and walked through snow in the mountains of the lake district, England. I have explored the morgue in the bowels of an abandoned hospital on a summer evening, climbed to the top of scaffolding on the outside of a five floor warehouse to look at the city lights of Nottingham at night and I have watched the sun setting on the Texas horizon.

I have held my son's tiny hand through the plastic window on an isolette in the NICU ward. Walked, speaking only in whispers, through the catacombs beneath the ground on the outskirts of Rome and seen the fireworks over Heidelberg castle.

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