Sarah started a new job so I’m babbling at her a lot but I’m trying to not go too overboard. Pam has fallen into an activism hole and isn’t available to chat much because she’s off having a life or some shit. Jenny’s mom is visiting her so she hasn’t been free to Skype in a few weeks.

The words are bubbling up inside me. God I want to talk.

I finally made all the phone calls I needed to make to deal with medical shit for the kids. (Insurance verification stuff. Not a big deal. Just a thing to do.) I paid all the bills that have stacked up. I checked on car insurance stuff. I did useful things.

Noah’s mom wrote me a nice letter and didn’t address it to Noah. I will deign to respond. I now have a policy: when his family addresses a letter to him… I don’t answer. I’m not an invisible secretary. If they write to me I’ll write back an epic chatty letter with all the details they would like to get from him but he will never tell them. Like data about our children’s personalities. He doesn’t care enough about them to tell them.

I want my kids to show up and be accepted during the rare visits they have. That means the family in Texas needs to be aware and braced for the weirdness. I give that introduction. But only when they acknowledge me as a person.

So I got another box of adorable little dresses. I’m amazed she had any left after how many she sent when the older kids were small. But here is a whole stack of 18 month clothes. Sure. I have basically nothing in that size so far.

I will have to tell her we are moving and culling so that she doesn’t send a dozen massive boxes this Christmas. hahaha. It won’t help. She will do whatever the fuck she wants.

I’m struggling with how guilty I feel for advocating for myself. Noah is officially working part time for a couple more weeks (the fourth trimester is coming to an end… yay!) but I’m struggling with how ashamed I feel of asking him for help. I do stuff for myself when I shouldn’t and don’t have to and then I feel awful and angry. It’s not wise or useful or helpful or anything good.

I am using a lower dosage of medication than I would prefer for pain and sleep reasons. I’m not sleeping well because of nursing (although this kid is so easy I’m not really bitching… just noticing that it’s true). I’m in a lot of pain from holding the baby (as expected). I’m really struggling with trying to cut sugar.

I want to cry because I just want more fucking sugar. There’s so much I can’t have. Privacy going pee. A walk without my back hurting from holding a baby. Less pain in my body. Sleep. Not having sugar at the same time is feeling like horrible torture. I’m such a god damn baby.

There is no fair. I’m allowing myself tea with sugar. I have already had other sugar this month. The amount I’m cutting back to isn’t zero. I need to shut the fuck up.

But it hurts.

I god damn hate being an adult. Fuck this shit.

There is a piece of me that is afraid that if I cut the sugar more I’ll drop weight like whoa and I don’t want to.

Body mass and weight are fascinating. I’m in the mid 160’s right now (which is at the low end of the middle of my weight fluctuations… I go from 145-205 with most of my time being spent in the 160’s-180’s) but my belly is still distended and I’m wearing pants I usually wear in the 190’s. My shirts are fitting weird because I have no extra fat in my back/shoulders. I look very much like I have the kind of body where I could lose 20 lbs and all of a sudden look skinny and fit. It’s weird. Usually I feel like I look more like a chunky person but smaller? This isn’t that.

Bodies. Weird.

Ok. Time to go pick up MC from camp. Don’t wanna move from the couch but life doesn’t really give a shit what I want. Move it, wench.