This has become my life at night. Whether it’s because I am 45, or because I’ve had three pregnancies and birthed three kids, or both, 3 a.m. has become my enemy. Apologies to Elisabeth Kubler-Ross.
- DENIAL – This takes the form of, “I don’t REALLY have to go. I can make it a few more hours.” Then my 13-pound cat does a one-pawed handstand directly in the middle of my lower abdomen. This leads to the next stage…
- ANGER – Fucking cat. Get the hell off my belly. Damn it. I really DO have to go. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooowwwwllllllll. Fucking bladder.
- BARGAINING – “Dave? Daaa-aaaaave? Please, can you go to the bathroom for me? You can always fall right back to sleep and I can’t!” This often turns into guilt, as my Jewish heritage demands. “I birthed three children for you and you can’t even go to the bathroom for me in the middle of the night?!?” Okay, this technically is not bargaining. If I were smart, I would have bargained BEFORE we had kids. As in, “Okay, I’ll have kids, but you have to PROMISE to go to the bathroom for me in the middle of the night from then on.”
- DEPRESSION – Why me? Why go to the bathroom at all? I don’t deserve this. I’m a good person. Why must my need for sleep conflict with my need to eliminate? Do I need to start wearing Depends at this young age? Astronauts do it. I never did become an astronaut. Darn it. I’m such a loser.
- ACCEPTANCE – Sigh. I’m not gonna sleep if my bladder is full. I’m not gonna sleep once my bladder is empty. I may as well shuffle my half-closed-eyed ass into the dark bathroom and just pee already. Maybe I’ll luck out and fall asleep on the toilet. That way I won’t have to get out of bed the next time I have to pee. Which should be about nine minutes after I finish peeing this time.