Yes, I’m irrational. Hormonal. Delusional. Over the edge. I can at least admit it, but for some reason I’m totally unable to stop or even control these feelings. I need somewhere to vent (other than Jess’s ears).
I feel like running away. Far away.
I wonder how people can stay married for the sake of their children. I guess I’m finding out.
Some days I wish I could die. Quick and painless, of course, but die none the less. But then I think about how my death would mean the death of my second child and would mean leaving Porter to be raised solely by Ryan.
We’re going to St. Louis this week. Has my husband helped to make
any plans? Oh, he’d say "Why didn’t you ask?" Why should I ask? He’s
going on the trip too… can’t he use is brain to figure out things
that need to get done? He barely wanted to talk with me about our time line and when we are leaving and coming home. And, we leave in 4 days and have no one to watch our
dogs. That’s going to be interesting.
I felt so bad when Porter kept whimpering while I rocked him before his nap and he started crying and said "I’m sad!". I hate how my uncontrollable feelings are affecting him.
It makes me sad how I was so easily convinced to get pregnant for a second time, only to now realize how alone I am in this pregnancy. I can’t remember a time when Ryan ever asked me how I was feeling, how I was doing, if I needed help with anything. I can’t recall him asking when my next doctor’s appointment was, and furthermore, asking how it went. I feel sad that Ryan was so involved and nurturing and caring throughout Porter’s pregnancy, but not this one. It makes me sad for this baby.
I hate that he doesn’t understand that yeah, I’m pregnant, yeah people go through it every single day, but it still takes a toll on your body and mind and things that normally are no big deal are a big deal. Things that normally require minimal effort can be tiring. How patience is cut short.
I hate that there are so many days I wish I could take back this pregnancy, not because I don’t love this child, but because I feel sad that I can’t give Porter or this baby a good family and a happy mother. Even though I seem happy a lot of times, I realize how sad I am most of the time.
Trying to get dressed is a bitch. I could handle the lack of clothing situation, but when you have to put on a bra every freaking day that itches and is uncomfortable it sucks. Why do I wear it, you ask? Well, because there are only a select few bras I can find in my size unless I want to spend $100 on a bra. So I have to make do with the one dirty, overworn bra I have that fits. And don’t get me started on the boobs and how my upper back is killing already. And how my left boob is already seeming too full for the 34DDD bra I have.
I hate that I’m losing it at the happiest time of the year. I hate that I feel like my life and world is unraveling quickly around me and I don’t know how to stop it and I don’t know how to get through all the plans we have made for the next few weeks.
I feel depressed seeing all the things wrong in my life. And I feel depressed knowing I’m writing it here for people to read. I should probably start a psychotic rambling blog somewhere and keep it anonymous.