Finding Sweet Dreams for the Sandwich Generation

home insemination Kit

It’s the second night of my partner’s bi-weekly work trip, and let me tell you, the second night is always the toughest. By now, my excitement for taking on solo parenting has worn thin, and my patience for my kids’ endless attempts to delay bedtime has evaporated. My resolve to remain calm has crumbled before dinner is even over.

My 5-year-old daughter, thank goodness, has finally drifted off in her brother’s room, leaving me to survive my 3-year-old son until we reach the blissful state of quiet. I envision a few precious moments of peace before collapsing into bed. I pretend to be asleep, hoping my son will take the hint and follow suit. Each time I peek, though, he’s wide awake, launching his superhero action figure against the wall, trying to catch it on the way down. It’s like I’m witnessing a mini circus act—he’s got the energy of a monkey on a sugar rush and laughs every time Spider-Man lands on his face.

“Let’s try to sleep, buddy,” I gently suggest, placing my hand on his little belly.

“Okay, Mama,” he replies, his eyes tightly squeezed shut in a valiant effort to comply. It warms my heart to see him trying to make me happy.

But soon enough, the thumping resumes as he resumes his game of catch with Spider-Man. It’s not his fault; he has a nap at preschool, and now that he’s older, he can’t seem to wind down until 10 p.m.

I reach for my phone, ready to send my partner a frantic text like, “Help! Bedtime is a nightmare!” I could compile a whole book of messages from these second nights, each following the same theme: “SOS. I’m drowning in bedtime chaos!”

Just as I’m typing “HELP” in capital letters, my phone buzzes. I’m startled to see a text from my dad. My heart races—he only reaches out out of the blue when something’s wrong. My mind races through our family members, worried a crisis has struck.

“Call me when you can.”

The words send my anxiety skyrocketing. Someone must have passed away. I quickly dial, trying to catch my breath as I navigate the stairs to my bedroom.

“Dad, I got your message. What’s going on?” I blurt out, trying to mask my panic.

“Everything’s going to be OK. My liver…biopsy…hepatitis…just wanted you to know.”

I ask all the right questions: “How are you feeling? What can I do?” When my mom hops on the phone, I gather my courage. “Is this related to alcoholism?” Even though he’s been sober for over 38 years, it’s a worry that lingers in the back of my mind.

“I asked that, and they said no,” Dad reassures me.

Suddenly, we’re united in worry, questioning what led to this and searching for someone to blame. There are no clear answers, only modern medicine and a lifetime of steroids to manage the symptoms.

“Will he have to take these forever?” I ask, feeling the weight of the news.

“Yep,” Mom says.

That hits hard. The rest of his life? It’s a heavy burden to bear. I’ve always pictured my dad as the eternally young man from my childhood. But now I realize he’s actually 70, and “the rest of his life” isn’t as long as I had hoped.

“Mama! Maaaaaaaamaaaaaaa!” My son’s voice echoes up the stairs, pulling me back to reality.

“Are your kids still awake?” my mom asks, and I can only sigh. “You should check on him.”

As much as I want to cry, I know my son needs me more right now. If I can just settle him down, I can dive into researching my dad’s condition later. I snuggle next to my son, feeling his warmth, and ask, “Can I scratch your back?” I know this will keep him from tossing toys.

He flips over, and I feel the rhythm of his heartbeat through his pajamas. In that moment, I can’t help but think about everything my dad’s liver has endured—Vietnam, years of drinking, and now this.

I remember that you can’t live without a liver and that there’s a lifetime of pills ahead. Then it hits me: I’m 40, not my dad.

As my son drifts off, I take a deep breath, remembering that knowledge is power. I pull up the Mayo Clinic website and learn that my dad’s condition is manageable with medication. Relief washes over me, and I can finally surrender to sleep, knowing that we’ll face whatever comes next together.

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In summary, navigating the challenges of parenting while managing family health issues can be overwhelming. Yet, through moments of chaos and concern, we find strength in our connections, learning to embrace both the joys and challenges of life.