I'm not dying...yet.

I ate an obnoxious amount of roasted beets the other day. Call me stupid (no really...go ahead) but I sat up in the middle of that night, googling every ailment that causes one to have blood in their pee. I decided, since I had no other symptoms at the moment, that I had cancer. Specifically in my bladder.

Never mind that it could be a ton of different things, but I like to go straight to cancer.

One of my twins was in my bed snuggling that night, and I was so morbidly worried that I was dying and how he was going to survive. I was staring at his little face and internally freaking out. I held it together pretty well for someone who convinced myself that I had less than a year to live.  Meaning, I didn't sob.  I may have teared up a little.  He didn't notice.

I was thinking of the campaign I was going to have, kind of like a season of The Bachelor, to find a mom (and wife to Bob if they would) to take over my place. Interviews, short dates, long dates, and then pick a lucky winner.

Can you really even believe that show is still on?

Then I googled it some more. And one of the questions somewhere was, "Did your dumb-ass eat a shit-ton of beets and forget, you total hypochondriac, dooms-day, freakazoid?"

Yes.

WHEW! I'm cured.

Sorry to talk about pee...but I'm back now.