Flying solo

25 Apr

The Boy left for Kenya today and up until 2pm I was keeping my shit together. Call me the Queen of Denial. But now I’m home alone, missing him like crazy, and wishing beyond anything I could wind time back to last night and make it last forever. I’m also wishing the freaking cat would stop periodically clawing the flyscreen and settle the hell down for the night before I totally snap and throw the little bugger back out in the rain.

Today’s word is “Bah” and is brought to you by an excess of pregnancy hormones and the pity party specialists. 

So. I’m 32 weeks pregnant, The Boy is somewhere in the air over the Indian ocean, The Cat is about to be made into mittens, and I’m feeling more than slightly ill at having massacred at least two chocolate bunnies in an effort to release some much needed endorphins. While my mood hasn’t exactly improved, I do have one energetic little fetus that is using the sugar rush to punch the crap out of my belly. And that, at least, never fails to make me smile.


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