On Thursday morning, I woke at 4:30 AM in the throes of yet another attack (honestly, April 28 could not come soon enough), I took a pain pill, did a few loads of laundry before getting Z up to shower and get going, and headed out to begin yet another day of work. (After all, a momma can't take a day off.)
It was a bad day all around. When I have attacks, I can't eat (because it makes me even sicker), which inevitably leads to a migraine and so, by the time I arrived home, I was starving, a little loopy and a whole lot ready-to-cut-out-the-part-of-my-brain-that-felt-most-offensive. (Please don't tell me that I should stay at home when I have attacks, unfortunately, I don't have that kind of sick time to be taking, and Social Security would probably deny me benefits.)
Hubs had to go to work and I warned Z that it would be an early night. When we sat down on the couch at 8:30, I had know idea that it would literally be minutes before my entire body just gave out. I turned the Netflix on to Hey Arnold! (her new fave) and I just collapsed. Had it not been for her face slapping me every 30 minutes insisting on "just one more, Momma, pleeeeeaaasse", she could have set the house on fire or drank poison without me knowing it.
Before you go calling DCFS (they are really my biggest fear on the planet), please note that I did have control over what she was watching, she was sitting next to me the entire time (because every time she would move I would snarl and beg her to sit still and please just let momma rest her eyes) and she ended up peeing on the couch in the middle of the night because I was not awake to remind her before she fell asleep.
So now I get to clean my couch in exchange for falling asleep and I have learned my lesson.
It all works out in the end. (And the sleep that I needed was so, so, so worth it, even if my couch is gonna stink for a few days.)