Ava Mallory

If you'd asked me forty years ago. I would've told you I'm well-rested. I was the kid who woke up at the crack of dawn, wide awake and ready to go. I'm still an early riser, but with a bit of strange twist. (Thank you, weak bladder and noisy children.) According to my Fitbit (I affectionately call it The Tattler because it rats me out all the time.), I sleep an average of 1 hour and 39 minutes a night. Yep, read that again. That's per night! What is wrong with me? I'll tell you. (Since you asked.) I am a five-foot-one-inch on a good day ball of stress and anxiety. I never used to be that way. Somewhere between, Mom, can you give me a ride to the mall? and Because I said so, that's why!  I lost my way. Sure, I could completely blame it on my roommaates. My children, I mean. I could also blame my ex-husband for it (and about a million other things along the way), but we don't speak about him. At least not on purpose. (Don't ask. I mean, se