Tackling Medical Mom Life—One Sip of Coffee at a Time.
If you’ve ever packed for a hospital stay in 3 minutes flat, cried in the parking lot, or missed your own doctor’s appointment because you were managing everyone else’s—you’re not alone. You’re exactly who I built this for.
I’m Abbey—twin mom, teacher, and full-time medical chaos navigator. I started making the tools I couldn’t find: checklists, cheat sheets, and backup systems that actually work when life gets messy (because let’s be honest… it always does).
If you’re tired of holding everything in your head and hoping nothing slips through the cracks—you’re in the right place.
I don’t create fluff. I create real tools for real life—because the mental load of medical parenting is already heavy enough. I’m a medical parent in the trenches with you, needed these things, and realized they could help you too. I want to help you stop spinning and start feeling in control (even if you’re still eating dinner in the car and rescheduling the audiologist again).
If you’re juggling feeding tubes, therapy schedules, insurance calls, and a calendar that makes you want to cry—you’re not alone. I’ve lived it too.
My twins were born at 25 weeks, and we were thrown straight into NICU life, cerebral palsy diagnoses, feeding issues, and an avalanche of paperwork no one prepared me for.
I know what it’s like to feel like the default care coordinator, while also wondering if you remembered to brush your teeth. That’s exactly why I created Caffeine Before the Chaos: to give you the tools I desperately needed when everything felt like too much.
Here, you’ll find real-life systems—no fluff, no pressure to be perfect. Just templates, trackers, and sanity-saving guides that help you stop holding it all in your head. Because you already do the impossible. You shouldn’t have to do it from scratch every day.
CEO of Remembering All the Things
Every system, checklist, and form started as something I needed during my own chaos
If it helps you feel less overwhelmed—I’ve probably made it (in leggings, with cold coffee nearby)
I design every guide, tracker, and template myself—no fluff, no filler
Each one is tested in real life (a.k.a. therapy lobbies and hospital bags)
Made to be used, not admired
I’ve juggled tube feeds, NICU flashbacks, insurance calls, and IEP meetings on the same day
I know what it’s like to feel buried, exhausted, and unsure where to even start
You’re not behind—you’re just living in a world that expects you to remember the pharmacy refill, the IEP date, the feeding schedule, and your kid’s entire medical history… without a break. You don’t need to get it all together. You need a system that won’t fall apart when your Tuesday turns into triage.
Progress doesn’t always look like a win. Sometimes it looks like remembering the ice packs, rescheduling the audiologist before they call you, or making it through a day without crying in the parking lot. That counts. Every bit of it.
The first time we packed for a hospital stay, I brought six chargers, no deodorant, forgot the meds in the fridge, and panic-Googled “what do I even bring?” I couldn’t believe how unprepared I felt—for a life I was living every day. So I started making the tools I wish someone handed me in the NICU—and I haven’t stopped since.
Whether you’re packing for a surprise hospital run, juggling six specialists, or just tired of keeping everything in your head—there’s a better way.
Inside the shop, you’ll find the same printables, guides, and brain-savers I use when life feels like too much. Nothing fancy. Just stuff that works when the calendar’s full and the coffee’s cold.
You’re doing more than enough already. Let me make it easier.
Our twins were born at 25 weeks, and we crash-landed into NICU life. Cue: acronyms, feeding tubes, and Googling things no one should have to Google.
At one point we had 7 appointments in 3 days. I was managing meds, therapy notes, and insurance calls with sticky notes and guesswork. Not to mention trying to figure out how to go back to work.
I forgot a specialist form, missed an appointment, had a huge pile of unread mail that I was pretty sure had super important stuff, cried in the car, and realized: I can’t do this from memory anymore. So I started making the brain-saving stuff I needed.
What started as duct-tape survival strategies turned into printables, templates, and a whole lot of “me too” messages from other moms.