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I’m Grumpy & I Live Here

I’m Grumpy & I Live Here

OH MY GOD STOP APOLOGIZING FOR EVERYTHING!

(That’s me I’m talking to, but also probably you too, so listen up!)

TAKE YOUR PLACE, MOMS.

Own your space and don’t you dare apologize for being a human.

REPEAT AFTER ME:

“I’m grumpy and I live here. It’s not personal, I just happen to be a person.”

Carry on.

You’re Not Boring, You’re Just Bored

You’re Not Boring, You’re Just Bored

I’m so bored. Like existentially bored. It happens every now and then and generally doesn’t have anything to do with my happiness or quality of life. In fact, come to think of it, it usually happens when everything in my life just fine, if not pretty good. 

Every time I feel this way I take on a new project. Last time I started an MBA. The time before that got a puppy when my daughter was only 1yo. It’s like a temporary lapse in sanity, in order to help me *feel* something– I’m looking for some purpose.

*Now, this is when my mother would tell me that I need Jesus. She’s worried about my soul, but I think my soul is okay right now. (Sorry, mom)

So what do you do when you don’t feel like you have a purpose? Me? I start searching for it EVERYWHERE 

I’m VERY good at not finishing projects that I start or just taking my sweet ass time.

Small sampling of unfinished projects in search of inspiration/purpose/SOMETHING:

  • I’m still working on my MBA.
  • My puppy is an asshole who has made my backyard basically unusable in his never-ending search for earthworms and cicadas.
  • I have a stack of at least 10 books on my nightstand that are half finished.
  • I started painting my kitchen cabinets 2 years ago.
  • I have a closet full of half painted canvases from my phase as an artist.
  • The sewing machine I *needed* has been used, once… maybe.
  • Quilting, crochet, gardening.

and the list goes on. It is a seemingly endless cycle of starting things because I’m feeling bored and I need to be inspired. It works, for a time.

I thought that I wanted to be a graphic designer. Turns out I have no interest in being a graphic designer. I have talent but I have no passion. Honestly I’m not sure I even have talent; I have some technical skills and I have an ‘eye’ as they say, but apparently, to be an artist of any kind, you need passion and passion is what I don’t have. Not for that anyway. I don’t want to endlessly edit your stupid brand identity. I’m so bored. How boring.

AND THEN! Insult to injury, my brain shifts from I’m so bored to maybe I’m just boring. I used to be interesting. I used to be endlessly optimistic about the fact that I would certainly run the world someday.

 WHEN DID I LOSE THAT AND HOW DO I GET IT BACK?

I don’t think this is an unusual feeling or process (though it does seem a little crazy to see it in words) but I don’t think we talk enough about learning and growing up when we’re supposed to already be grown up. We all need to figure our own shit out in our own way, and my way just happens to be in a perpetual cycle of high hopes and big ideas that get lost in a sea of mothering, wifing, life, and eventually becomes discouragement and self-pity/loathing/deprecating.  

Why is discovering yourself reserved for ‘coming of age’ tales?

I don’t have any answers and maybe I’m just rationalizing my lack of follow-through, but maybe, JUST MAYBE, we’re all just a work in progress.  In the end, what is so wrong with continuing to search for passion and play and purpose for our whole lives?  

Go play and I’ll see you out there, ma.

 

Depression | The Dark + Dirty

Depression | The Dark + Dirty

Depression is dark and dirty.
It’s really hard to see through when you’re in it and even harder to remember when you’re not.
It’s irrational and careless and really fucking scary.
It makes you believe that life is futile.
It makes you believe things are hopeless.
It makes you believe that you’re not worthy.

You are surrounded by people just like you who may be smiling and laughing in your presence but sobbing in the bathroom when you walk away.

Be the light.

Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be too proud to ask for help.

Find a light.

WE GET IT, YOU DON’T LIKE KIDS.

WE GET IT, YOU DON’T LIKE KIDS.

<rant> You don’t like kids. Listen, I get it.

You don’t love them noising up your restaurants or your airplanes or your public spaces in general. You didn’t choose them, so why should they affect your life so loudly? I completely understand.

The thing is, I’m not wild about snarky adults with their deliberate eye rolls, exasperated sighs, and inflated internet opinions, but holy shit, for some reason society allows YOU out in public.

The difference between you and my daughter is that she is a small human child who doesn’t know how to behave yet. I am trying to teach her to be courteous and careful and kind. I’m doing my best and it’s hard as shit. Experience is imperative while teaching so unfortunately for you, it doesn’t make sense to keep my toddler in hiding until she learns your rules.

Ya know, ‘cause that’s not how learning works.

Mind your manners, you assholes. </rant>

Happiness & How You Can Help

Happiness & How You Can Help

DISCLAIMER:  My husband is delightful and I love him and the life we have created.  Please remember that as I continue and hang on for the ride…

To begin, you should know that I’ve been on a lovely anti-depressant cocktail since accepting my PPD over two years ago; I find comfort in the full bottle of Xanax in my cupboard that’s there if I need it.  And I’m really okay with that right now.

So here we go:

“I’m sorry you’re so unhappy,” my husband says to me in what feels like a deliberate jab to my most vulnerable spot after a passing disagreement about housework or money or parenting or whatever. 

Want to get me riled up?  This is the sentence. 

Why? Because life is fucking hard sometimes, I’m doing the best I can, and if you don’t quit telling me that I’m just uniformly unhappy, I’M GONNA BE REALLY UNHAPPY.  Inside I quickly morph into into an irrational bot of angry, resentful ‘OH YOU THINK THAT’S HELPFUL? You wanna go?! LET’S GO.’  Eventually, I utter through hiccuping tears — “I’m exhausted and I need more help”

“But I am helping, I’m trying, I do whatever you ask me to”

*and then my eyes roll back into my head, never to be seen again.*

We go back and forth with this, it’s either:  Just tell me what needs doing and I’ll do it OR You’re always telling me what to do.

I don’t want to tell you what to do, I want you to just do the things that need to be done.  PERIOD.

Our last rouse climaxed with “You’re so mad you don’t even talk to me at the end of the day and I just think that it’s more important that we communicate than that the floors are clean.”

Okay.  Stop.  There it is.  That’s the problem.

It hadn’t occurred to me that this was how I was compensating for feeling overwhelmed and underappreciated but I was completely shutting off at the end of the day when I wasn’t getting enough support and I didn’t feel like picking the fight.  For the first time, I was able to compare his need for end of the day debriefing with my need for order and consistency and I was able to finally put it into words: If helping to keep the floors clean improves my happiness, can’t you just help me clean the floors more?!

Our brains work differently.  He is not intentionally not appreciating the things I’m doing in love to keep things moving smoothly, he’s just hoping that I will do the things that HE sees as showing love and support — they just happen to be two different things so we’re missing each other in the journey.

Me:

I can’t go to sleep at night with a sink full of dishes.

I can’t relax after dinner until the dishes are done.

I can’t enjoy my Friday afternoons off if I skipped Thursday chores.

I skip the step that leaves the towel on the floor and put it straight into the hamper.

I’m a little neurotic but nothing has changed

And I can’t tell you how important these things are to my mental health one more goddamn time.

Him:

I am more productive in the morning.

Let’s enjoy each other and worry about the dishes later.

I’ll do my work tomorrow, today I need a day to rest and recoup.

I want to stand naked under this fan for a second, I’ll pick up the towel when I’m done.

He’s a little scattered but nothing has changed.

And I’d guess my nagging isn’t helpful to his mental health and he’d rather not have to tell me one more goddamn time.

I am not unhappy with our life, I just need more recognition for keeping this madhouse from catching fire every day and sometimes I struggle to do it with a goddamn smile on my face.  There is no way for anyone to know that if I don’t use my words.

Moral of the Story:

You’re important but other people are too.  Don’t assume that everyone knows how to make you happy and how to help, tell them.  Don’t assume that you know how to make everyone happy and how to help, ask them.

 

Postpartum Preeclampsia

Postpartum Preeclampsia

‘Wholly unprepared,’ seems like an understatment when describing how I felt about the chaos of entering the postpartum world for the first time.  Sure, throughout my pregnancy I was worried about preeclampsia and gestational diabetes and toxemia and I’ve always struggled with anxiety and denial of depression but postpartum is supposed to be joyous.  IT IS, DAMMIT!  Postpartum quickly became a dirty word in my world.  The dirtiest word. Y’ALL, WHY DID NO ONE EVER TELL ME ABOUT POSTPARTUM PREECLAMPSIA?  I never stumbled over it in a blog post, none of my friends have ever shared their experience, my doctor didn’t mention it until she sent me to the emergency room 5 days after I came home with my bundle of sleepless nights joy.  Easily, I could have ignored the symptoms (and probably did for a little too long) because trying to keep a human alive with my bodily fluids is freaking hard as shit.  Easily, I could have died.  The internet is full of hyperbole.  That is not hyperbole.
THE FACTS
Preeclampsia is a condition that occurs only in pregnancy.  So postpartum preeclampsia is a nasty little oxymoron.  Who is at risk for preeclampsia?  Uh, everyone.
  • First time moms
  • Anyone with high blood pressure
  • Anyone with female family members who have had preeclampsia
  • Women younger than 20 and older than 40
  • Human women
Mild preeclampsia symptoms are basically pregnancy symptoms unless you’re a superhuman (I know, some of you are.  Get over yourselves)
  • High blood pressure
  • Water retention
  • Protein in your urine
Severe preeclampsia symptoms are insane and *sorry mom* fucking scary as shit.
  • Severe headache
  • Blurry vision
  • Nausea and vomitting
  • Belly pain
  • Shortness of breath
  • Seizure
  • Stroke
YEAH.  STROKE. So clearly, it’s something your doctor will keep a close eye on during your pregnancy and allegedly, if you have preeclampsia during your pregnancy it basically vanishes after you give birth.  THANK GOD FOR THAT.  So what if you develop these things AFTER your give birth?
The Elusive POSTPARTUM Preeclampsia
Only 600 women a year develop postpartum preeclampsia (lucky me) so I get it, chances were slim.  Also, postpartum preeclampsia usually occurs within the first 48-72 hours after giving birth and lucky for me, I took the easy way out and had a c-section (note: sarcasm, relax), sitting me in the hospital relaxing for 5 whole days (also, sarcasm, but you get it now, right?). Okay, but then what?  Who’s keeping an eye on you after you leave the hospital when your first doctor visit isn’t for SIX WEEKS? Your infant needs to be seen within the WEEK but why not the moms?
WHO IS TAKING CARE OF THE MOMS?
I thank my lucky stars that my OB-GYN is amazing.  I’ll recommend her to everyone until the day I die and may never leave New Orleans in my childbearing years because of her.  She responded to panicked texts and calls from me and my exhausted husband for hours with advice, suggestions, and a calm voice before realizing we were in trouble and sending us to the hospital.  What would have happened if hadn’t switched docs early in my pregnancy because my first was a complete asshole?  “Hi, answering service, I’m pretty sure I’m dying.  Call me, maybe?”  I can’t imagine what would have happened if my husband’s grandfather/doctor didn’t say ‘your feet shouldn’t be that size’.  I can’t imagine what would have happened if I didn’t trust my recently dissected gut that something was wrong. I just cannot imagine what would have happened.  It chills me straight to the bone *enter stage right: POST PARTUM DEPRESSION AND CRIPPLING ANXIETY* — we’ll get there.
SO WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
You know when you go to the emergency room and have to wait for hours?  That doesn’t happen with postpartum preeclampsia because you might die.  I’m not trying to scare you here.  No, yeah, I am.  Your vitals will be taken as quickly as possible and you’ll be ushered into a room where a nurse will immediately start pumping venom (magnesium) into your veins so you don’t have a seizure and subsequent stroke because your blood pressure is beyond dangerous.  Your husband who has never been alone with a newborn is tasked with keeping her alive and happy without any boobs or idea about how to make a bottle of formula (me neither, at this point, not a husband knock).  Now all alone, someone is trying to x-ray your chest to make sure your heart doesn’t fail and even if the picture turns out OK, your heart is broken and you know it.  The tears flow steadily as you pray to a god you don’t even believe in to save you from this failing body so you can kiss that sweet neck even one more time.  It sounds a little dramatic, but y’all this was the scariest day of my life. Postpartum preeclampsia landed me in the hospital for a full 48 hours, where I had the worst headache of my life, I couldn’t obsess over the tiny baby that I had been growing for 10 months, I ruined my breastfeeding flow which never recovered, my spirit broke because my body was broken, it kicked off months of postpartum depression because if my body was broken and now my mind was broken and how in the hell am I going to raise a human if I’m almost dead and basically crazy?!?! Babies are so important and it’s right that we take extra special care of them when they appear but y’all, mommas are important too.  Demand the care that you deserve.  Don’t swallow that gut feeling that something is wrong. Usually, everything is okay, but sometimes it’s not; someone has to take care of the mommas, even if that someone is ourselves.
You do you, baby

You do you, baby

I usually fall in line with the ‘Break the Rules’ parenting (especially when falling down a mommyblog rabbit hole while I should be folding laundry) but the longer I do it, the more I realize that rules are bullshit.  Most recently it was a ‘How Not to Raise a Daughter’ list that ruffled my feathers.  Maybe it’s because I’m an older first-time mom, maybe it’s because I’ve become quite the little conformist, maybe it’s just because I’m crotchity, but I don’t want these dumb rules for my kid.  I hope that when my daughter picks her path in this life she isn’t swayed by arbitratily contrived lists of dos and donts based on someone else’s lame experience.  I hope that she isn’t shamed into a place that she’d rather not be.  I hope that I will have raised her to be exactly what she needs to be at all times.  I hope she knows that I’ll be there when she’s not.  I hope that she’ll be good in all she does.  I hope.  I hope.  I hope.

To my daughter:

Baby, quit your day job and be a mom full time if you want to. I’ve never been happier in my whole life than I am watching you get mad about not being able to stand up inside a cardboard box. If I had the privilege of doing that everyday, I couldn’t turn it down. If you can and want to stay home… do it. If you love your job with your whole heart and want to work, girlfriend, go back to work. There are so many people in your village that love you and your child, we’ll help you both grow as much as we can. It’s important for moms to be happy too.

You are pretty. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and I’ll tell you that until my last breath. You’re also smart and capable and I’ll teach you how to be caring and cunning and wise. Don’t let people tell you that beautiful is bad and don’t you dare think that beauty is everything. But dammit, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

Be bossy. Be thoughtful first. Be smart and kind and do your best to change the way people think about bossy, but girlfriend, BE A BOSS.

I am human. I’m your mom and you probably will be a mom someday too and it’s hard. It’s messy. I am not without fault but man, I’m doing my best because I love you so much. Be human. Make mistakes. Admit them. Be humble. Always learn as much as you can.

Don’t listen to any list on any dumb blog. Be pretty and bossy and human all you want, baby. This world is yours for the changing.

Love, mama

The Dark Days

The Dark Days

Motherhood is the single most rewarding thing I’ve ever done in my life, I’m happier than I’ve ever been and I don’t think it could get better. But y’all, in a moment of vulnerability and honesty, this is how I feel today: some days are dark — existentially dark — full of ennui and irrational dread. Knowing the dark moments are fleeting, I swallow as deep as possible to try not to miss one moment of discovery and sweetness in my life and without becoming a cloud over the joy. I worry about being a strong enough example, a good woman, a good human. I fret constantly about being a provider financially (don’t get me started on emotional, spiritual, and passive support worries). I worry that my past is too broken for my future to recover personally and how that will affect my brood keeps me up at night. I hope that I can inspire and encourage my girl to be strong and brave by being inspired and strong and brave myself, but on dark days, I just hope the dread passes quickly, the inspiration strikes clearly, and that I find the ability to fake it if I fail, all while pouring with a heavy hand.

A brighter tomorrow, friends.

Luxury Schmuxury

Luxury Schmuxury

Luxurious Substitutes for the Frugal Mom

I rolled my eyes at this too ‘your privilege is showing, ma’ let me preface this by saying that I know that this may come across as a little bougie but I’M TRYING TO BE HELPFUL SO GIVE ME A DAMN BREAK OR MOVE ON YOU RELENTLESS SANCTIMOMMY.

Babies are expensive and despite all of my ‘oh, I’ll NEVER do that’ talk pre-real-life-baby-human creation, it turns out my kid has sensitive skin, a picky palate, and little girl clothes are just too cute to not spend every dollar bill I have on them.  Saving money in areas I was once frivolous has been a lesson in humility and I’m still working on it.

Guilty Purchase:  Fancy Face Wash

Annual Savings $60

Philosophy’s Purity is the only skin care product I’ve ever spent any real money on (except that one time I got talked into a Rodan + Fields skin care system, which I really wanted to love and to turn me into a dewy beauty queen despite the hefty pricetag but y’all if I remember to take my eye makeup off it’s with Lubriderm and toilet paper so, I’m the wrong kind of girl, and that’s a story for another day). Purity smells like good self-esteem and I enjoy the sight of it on the edge of my bathtub. I buy about 2 of the medium sized bottles (24oz) per year, which run about $44 each. My husband and I use the same beauty products, so it’s easy to rationalize since I have to share, but still $88 a year is a lot for soap used only on my face.

Trader Joe’s $5.99 (8.45oz) All-In-One Cleanser  I lovelovelove Trader Joe’s but the stuff in this aisle I usually skip on my way to $3 wine, until in a moment of desperation, avoiding the mall, I decided to try this face wash (and her sister moisturizer). It’s mild and makes my skin feel just as smooth and clean as Purity. I also find that I use a more reasonable amount of cleaner with the pump than I do rationing myself with the pour top of Philosophy, but that’s my own issue with moderation. I go through about 1 bottle every 2 months, so 6 per year, which is a total savings of $52 per year.

Cetaphil $9.49 (16oz) is AHHHmazing for sensitive skin and is so gentle, I can use it on my sweet babe’s sensitive face to avoid the ridiculously expensive prescription skin creams she needs when she gets a rash. It can be used with or without water, which is totally weird to me, but it’s true. One of the 16oz pumps lasts between 4 and 6 months, so replacing my fancy face wash with this saves up to $60.  While you’re at it, buy the store brand.  IT’S FINE.

Your Baby’s Body Wash $1.78 (28oz)$8.92 (18oz)  taking a long soaking bath is my FAVORITE thing.  My peace, my creativity, my composure, all comes from the bathtub.  When my daughter hit 2, I got tired.  I started taking baths with her at bedtime and skipping my steamy lounge after bedtime, because about 64% of the time, I fall asleep in her bed anyhow.  AND THAT is how I came to only use my baby’s bath wash as my primary face cleaner.  I don’t really know how much quicker I’m using up the baby shampoo since we’re both using it, but I like to think of it as practically free since I’m buying it anyhow.  Plus the big generic pumps often BOGO at the big box stores or subscribe at Amazon or Target for a monthly discount.  is AHHHmazing for sensitive skin and is so gentle, I can use it on my sweet babe’s sensitive face to avoid the ridiculously expensive prescription skin creams she needs when she gets a rash. It can be used with or without water, which is totally weird to me, but it’s true. One of the 28oz pumps lasts between 2 and 4 months, so replacing my fancy stuff and sharing with my toddler also saves up to $60.  Again, buy the store brand, you snob.  IT’S FINE.

Guilty Purchase:  Expensive Mascara

Annual Savings $80

Benefit’s They’re Real Mascara is 100% the best mascara I’ve ever used and to be honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give it up completely.  They say you should replace your mascara every 3 months (LOL) so in theory, at $24 a pop, this mascara will cost you almost $100 per year.   Guys, that’s like half a year’s worth of fancy diapers for my kid’s sensitive butt. Does that mean I have to say goodbye to my gorgeous eyeball hair? No way! Make-up has come a LONG way, y’all.

NYX Super Luscious Mascara $7: If you don’t know and love NYX as a frugal  cheap SMART mama, let me show you the way. Started as a pro-only company, available only to professionals at trade shows NYX is now owned by L’Oreal. Cruelty free, PETA approved, and lawd, the price tag is delicious. So, let’s say you really do replace your mascara every 3 months, you just saved yourself $68 a year. If you’re like me and replace it only when it runs out and adding a little saline solution to the tube no longer works, you’ll still save yourself like $35 a year. That’s a BABYSITTER for a movie you’ll fall asleep in on an elusive date night.

Maybelline Great Lash $4: The pink tube, y’all. You had it when you were a teenager and it still makes all of the lists for pretty-OK mascaras. This one doesn’t do it for me as much as the NYX, however, with a little backup, it’s not too bad. Guys, get yourself a lash/brow comb and USE it. Clumps happen and for $4, just comb that shit out and move on. If you bought this cheapy every 3 months, you’d spend a whopping $16 a year on mascara, saving $80.

Guilty Purchase:  Salon Haircuts

Annual Savings:  $300

I know, I know.  DON’T CUT YOUR OWN HAIR.  I get it and sometimes you just can’t and sometimes you deserve a little pampering — we’ve got options y’all, relax.  I choose to wear my hair long and wild, partly because I am long and wild and partly mostly because I’m lazy.  A professional cut at my favorite salon runs at least $75 with tip and that’s only if I can say no to that scrumptious anti-frizz creme that makes my hair smell like heaven and look like spun gold.  Assuming I opt for a trim every 8 weeks in lieu of the recommended 6 weeks (as if anyone has the time for that), that’s $450 a year just to not look like a mangy lioness.  I’m okay with lioness but not mangy, I’m not an animal.

Beauty School ($25)  Check out your local beauty schools.  There is an Aveda Institute in New Orleans that offers student cuts for less than $20 and they’re supervised by instructors, so you’re probably safe.  If you still want that professional snip every 6-8 weeks, you’re cutting that $450 basically IN HALF, saving $225.  Now if you’re really brave and can do a little maintenance at home, like my lazy ass, you can push those visits to 3-4 months without anyone being the wiser, so now you’re down to $100 per year, the cost o a good pair of scissors, and a moderately marketable skill that will make you millions of imaginary dollars on your hypothetical YouTube channel.  Girl, you’re practically famous.

DIY bang trim (FREE) Get yourself a good pair of scissors, a glass of wine, and a little courage, you can do this.

Unplanned Pregnancy

Unplanned Pregnancy

and how to not respond like a judgey asshole.

We have to have a talk, guys.   Humans are jerks.  Yeah, I’m probably talking to you.   You speak before thinking.  You are coarse and hurt feelings, intentionally or not.  You think that when you believe something to be true, everyone should believe that thing to be true.  YEAH, YOU!

When it comes to babies, I’ve learned that the sanctimony is heavy and smells like shit (but not newborn shit, like full-grown nasty toddler shit). When the next person tells you that they’re knocked up, planned or surprise, take a minute before you spew your careless opinions on the hormonal human who likes you enough to trust you with some very important information about their future and be sweet, dammit.

Response # 1:  *whispers* They’re not even MARRIED

Trust me, I know.   You’re the ones I worried most about for the first 9 weeks, when I should have been celebrating the HUMAN BEING I JUST CREATED.   I sure do know what the Bible says about this sort of thing and thanks to my heightened senses, I can smell your disappointment from here.  I appreciate your concern for my soul and all, I do, but I’m good.  I know that this is very hard for you to hear because your faith is very important to you, but I don’t believe the same things that you do, and it’s okay.  I am good and kind and I am going to work really hard to make sure my kid is good and kind because that is what’s right, not because the Bible tells me so.  My soul is happy and while you may think that I have let you or your God down by taking a couple of steps out of order, I’m not asking for your opinion.  I’m asking for your support because I’m about to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m not asking for your opinion.   Love me, pray for me, if you like, but please don’t judge me for this wonderful, amazing thing that is happening.

Response #2:  Have you considered *ALL* of your options

I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE GETTING AT AND NOT ONLY DOES IT SUCK BUT SO DO YOU.

I made the mistake of trusting you with the secret of the biggest decision of my life earlier than I should have.  My mistake.  I’m scared and worried and excited and just dying to tell someone this life-changing news and I picked you.  I’m a grown-up and a smart one at that, what makes you think that I’ve not considered my ‘options’?  Not so subtly implying that I am not capable or do not have the resources to care for this thing that I’ve created is impossibly careless.  Even more than that, assuming that I’m not intelligent enough to think this through and come to a decision I’m comfortable with before telling you, is downright insulting.  I am asking for your support because I’m about to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I am not asking for your opinion.  Forget what I said about being good and kind, I am considering never speaking to you again.

Response #3:  You think THIS is bad?  Oh just wait

Yes, I do think I’m tired now.  Yes, I’m sure it gets worse.  Yes, I realize that labor will be hours of awful and then I’ll be up in the middle of the night, feeding, changing, cuddling, etc. right now, I’m so tired that I’d like to slap some common sense and empathy into you, but it seems way too hard.  I throw up after I brush my teeth every morning, I fall asleep before 8:00 PM most nights, I lost my taste for coffee and I’m freaking miserable about it.  I’m sure it gets worse, but shut up and just let me feel lousy instead of feeling guilty about feeling lousy because I’m allegedly going to feel even lousier in 3 months, 8 months, 1 year, until I’m 45, whatever.  Be kind and remember that the same hormones making my body revolt also make me cry over the dishwasher being full

PRO TIP:  ​DON’T MAKE THE PREGNANT LADY CRY, IT IS THE RUDEST THING.

Response #4:  HOLY SHIT CONGRATULATIONS

Most importantly, most of you said this and my goodness, thank you for it!  These were exactly my sentiments and exactly what I needed you to say.  Thank you for being sweet and supportive and helping me to carry this really weird weight that is suddenly on my back.  I needed you.

 

I’m having a baby.  GET OVER IT!

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