Sleep, you elusive little minx

I should be sleeping. I always complain "I'm so tired" "I need more sleep" "why aren't I sleeping THIS VERY MINUTE??" Tonight, I have no one to blame for my lack of shut eye and *that* sucks. I demand a scapegoat!

I'm having "Mommy Issues" right now. I had to take Sam to the doc's because he jammed a Q-Tip in his ear. It's oozing blood. The nurse was not moved by the sight of dried blood in my little man's ear. We still made an appointment, but you could cut her boredom with a knife. I wish it were contagious. It's not. I was flipping out. Standard Mommy practice, I guess.

Then, after I got his meds, I got to come home to a split lip. Sam fell on something or something (as my hubby explained it). I've seen enough of my child's blood, thank you. Sam calmed down after a while, we administered the medicine as directed by the Russian pharmacist who worked at Walmart down the street. He looks like Vladimir Putin. He, too, was bored with my questions as to how this medicine will affect my small boy. The hubby told me I put too many drops in Sam's ear. Big sigh from me; it's irrational for me to feel like my mommyness is being questioned, but I do.

Sam pulled some wooden shelves into himself while I was in the bathroom. Did I mention that I'm racked with guilt because in the last 3 weeks Sam has suffered every major kid accident there is? I had just read about kids suffocating under fallen furniture and boom! I go to poop and my kid gets trapped under fallen furniture! I thank God, Buddah, Allah, whoever the fuck is up there for allowing me to hear that thump and muffled cry. It wasn't a loud crash like one would expect. It was a "thump" with whimpers. If I had the fan on, I would have missed it. Sheesh...

I'm thinking I realize why I'm not sleeping. It's not the overly-salty Applebee's food (why DO I go there?!). It's not because I'm about to invent the bestest, fastest, smartest, thingamajiggy out there. I just feel like a terrible Mom. Sucks.

Sam sliced his head open on the coffee table. For a split second, before the tears, I looked at him and saw his skull. His skull. We both blew up in tears. That was a trip to the ER. The kindly nurse gave us a teddy bear while the doc berated an apparently drunk guy who was trying to get admitted for free room, food, attention. "I've got a baby in the next bed with his head sliced open and I have to do this rediculous dance with you, sir!! You are sapping our resources, GO HOME, SOBER UP". I wish those two could follow me everywhere and care for my kid. They gave a shit.

Boys will be boys, I'm told. Boys will break your heart. Boys will leave the toilet seat up. All this is supposed to make me feel better. It's 0210. I'm still thinking of ways to feel better. Sleep would be a step. I always feel better after some sleep...