This last week has been a roller coaster of emotion for me. Which is hard, because...I don't love emotion.
I don't love to cry. I don't feel better after a good cry. I feel worse. Worse for being "weak", worse because my eyes are swollen and gross. Worse because I can't explain to Brett why I'm crying (I don't even know why!).
I consider today's wicked headache as the apex of this horrible hormone week, and am determined that tomorrow I will be flying high. Tomorrow, the sun will rise for me, and I won't curse it for making me hot and sweaty, and blinding my headache with horrible pain.
Speaking of sweaty, it's going to be 106 today. Right now I feel cool and comfortable, not moving from my couch. The shades are drawn, all the fans are going, and my AC is only on 78. I feel confident that I can make it through the day in the same shirt.
Ha! Sweat is seriously at the forefront of my mind. Yesterday I drank 256 oz. of water and only peed once. My lips were still dry at the end of the day. I don't know how to stay hydrated in this desert heat. If 256 oz of cool water can't do it, I really don't know what can, at this point.
I wrote letters to all three of my children last night. I can't believe how big they all are. Kembry can read and Chloe is talking. It's all so indecent!
Cohen will be 7 in a few weeks. SEVEN. Let that sink it. SEVEN. I will be mother to a boy. Not a little boy. A boy. A wet-dog smelling boy. A boy who wears black socks with shorts, boy. A boy who thinks farts are funny.
Thankfully I can relive his babyhood once my new little boy is born. And I will. Oh, I will. I'll say things like, "Cohen, when you were a baby, you would do this, too..." Cohen will love it. Or he'll pretend to, he's good like that.
In the meantime, in the in-between time, I'm going to take a nap. And eat some Spaghettio's and another creamsickle. And probably cry some more. Why? No idea...