Grumpus. C’est moi.

I’m disappointed.  Just regular life stuff, the usual characters, and I’m not sure how much to chalk up to the pregnancy-hormone-crazies and how much to chalk up to the situation.

I’ve made myself a promise that I’m not going to wallow.  I’m not going to do things that make me feel worse (like visiting the Facebook pages of people who have hurt or wronged me in the past – who? me? what? never.). A glass of wine is out.  I’m not going to eat a pint of ice cream (pregnancy leaves me appetite-less, crazy, I know).  I’m not going to write angry e-mails (unless, anonymous vague blog posts count?).  I’m not going to send angry texts.  I’m not going to let my mood  melt into annoyance at the clutter and dirt in my house that is all of a sudden making me nutty.

So what am I going to do?   Quit whining.  Go to bed.  Be sad.  Think about how to calmly present my point to those who have disappointed me – but not think too long or too hard because I’m not going to change anyone. I’m going to go stroke my sleeping boy’s hair, and realize that tomorrow this will seem smaller.  And I’m going to hope tomorrow brings less of the pregnancy-hormone-crazies.

 

 

 

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