I've been having trouble sleeping at night.
Foxy and Jackie (our Toy Poodles, pictured below) sleep in our bed with us every night. Usually Foxy prefers to sleep on my face, or right next to my face, on my pillow, and Jackie likes to cuddle up against my stomach under the covers. I know, I know, they are totally spoiled. But I don't care. I love having them in bed with us.
Anyway, back to my sleep troubles.
For the last month or so, pretty much every night, I wake up at around 3:00am in somewhat of a panic. I have this horrible feeling that something has happened to the dogs. I have to put my hands over each of their chests and feel their little hearts beating before I can fall back asleep. Sometimes I even shake them a bit, just enough so that they squirm a little and I can be absolutely certain they are alive.
How messed up is that? It's like I'm so afraid of the things I love dying on me that it's literally keeping me awake at night.
Oh how I wish I could go back to my naivety. Back to the time in my life when beating hearts didn't just stop for no good reason. Back to before my little girls' did. Stop beating, that is.
Nearly eight months out and I'm still reeling.
I miss you.