Of recent, everyday feels like waking up as a different person. Almost like someone is directing you, giving you a new part to play each day with a different script. Of course no one but you is privy to the joke! Least of all, your poor husband who wonders what kind of wife he will come home to each day; smiley-chirpy-high-on-life-wife or morbid-glum-spirit-sapping-wife or rabid-bitchy-bite-your-head-off-wife… the poor guy, by this time, has probably given up altogether on regular-normal-supportive-life-partner-wife!!

Largely, though, I have been doing quite well with stray incidents of gloom and despair. Just that when the sucky bouts happen, they still end up feeling very sucky. Every time something brings me down I try and count at least 10 things that I have in my life which I had always wanted and try and calm my angrily pulsating heart. Never works. I know how this makes me sound. Thankless and unappreciative. I believe I am neither of those two things. For every day, through the day, I retain a very conscious awareness of all that I have to be thankful about. But it’s just that when the baby thoughts take over, nothing, simply NOTHING can quell that desperate yearning to feel a rapidly swelling belly, to hold a little part of yourself in your arms, to give birth to life, to watch your love grow each day, every day into someone you will be incredibly proud of.

On a randomly different note, the pottery classes are helping take away some of that prone-to-rapid-escalation negative energy. Something about working with your hands that takes away the stresses of a physical self always stalking the margins of stress.


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