I know that Noah would be very upset if he knew I used his death as a reason to beat myself up and hate myself. That was not something he wanted at all. He wanted me to like myself as much as he liked me. Like I wanted him to like himself as much as I like him. He never did.

Today I am not going to be able to power through and be strong and upbeat. I feel exhausted to the marrow of my bones. I did not get up and have breakfast on the table by 7 today. I’m letting someone else make food. Luckily I have amazing kids who love to cook.

My baby is now looking for stories about what happens when a parent remarries after losing a spouse. This freaks me out and scare me. I don’t want to bring in a new person so we can “be a family again”. We are a family already.

In the past 7 months I have lost 11 lbs. My waist is 3″ smaller. Every measurement (except for my boobs) has gone down by at least .25″ (calf) or a full inch (almost everywhere else). I really am shrinking away. I am basically the same size, but 4lbs heavier than when I ran my first marathon. I wish I still had all of those clothes. Soon Noah’s jeans won’t be able to stay up well even with a belt.