A quiet war had been raging in the Bethea household for a few months. Under the roof of a seemingly normal mid-century ranch style, on a peaceful tree-lined street, an epic battle had been waging where blood was spilled, tears were shed, and the sanity of one young mother hung in balance like a spider on Jonathan Edwards’ fireplace mantel. Someone has replaced my pink little ball of sleeping baby with a speed addict after a venti triple shot. And I wanted vengeance. I guess it all started around Christmas time. The holidays were busy for everyone, so when Eloise…