About four months after the birth of my daughter I was walking home from the store, pushing the stroller, when I suddenly turned and threw my guts up onto Beverly Boulevard. It was morning sickness all over again.
I was completely freaked out at the idea that I was pregnant after just four months of motherhood, but I couldn’t see any other explanation for the puking. Well all my panic was for nothing. It turned out I wasn’t pregnant. I’ve since chalked it up to some crazy hormonal postpartum readjustment.
And now, about four months after the birth of my second (and, trust me, last) child, here I am again. A complete wreck. I haven’t yet tossed my cookies on the side of the road, but I am a hormonal mess. A complete basket case, I admit it.
My emotional, raging, cranky state is made all the worse by the fact (?) that I’m never going to make my goal of finishing the second draft of my novel before my birthday. Sometimes I feel like I will never finish this book. I might as well just sit here and cry about it. Waaaa.
I promise to pull my shit together as soon as possible and get back to blogging about something a little less self indulgent.
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