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I am in hell. No wait, that doesn't make sense. How come I am in hell yet I want to kill myself? I am in LIVING hell. There, that makes sense.

No, let's start again. How can I say this in a way that's humorous and enlightening? Just because you have a blog doesn't mean anyone wants to hear how you have buyers remorse about getting knocked up because you can't lift hour head off the friggin pillow without getting the spins.

No, let's start over. I'm sick but it'll only last another month-and-a-half. Not too much longer. Only six more weeks of being a terrible mother and human being. Actually, that doesn't sound too heartening.

Eyes on the prize, I'm told - imagine your cute new baby. This of course from people who love newborns. All I can imagine is the first month of Harvey's life - how it was the absolute worst month of my life — trying to do an infinite amount of hospitality while totally exhausted and in pain — a million people invading my home and then complaining to me about the level of cleanliness — Did you KNOW there is CLEAN laundry and DIRTY laundry mixed together on the STAIRS???? — (Oh gosh, that's totally worth risking more tearing to go fix) — people calling at all hours of the day and then calling back twenty minutes later angry "WHY DIDN'T YOU PICK UP THE PHONE WHEN I CALLED YOU???" — Everyone with their three thousand pounds of contradictory advice confirming my hunch that it's impossible to be an adequate mother.

How do people do this over and over again? How do people do this ever? I'd gladly go through childbirth times four to get out of nausea times two months.


Sorry you are feeling crappy. I hope it gets better sooner than later. And about when Harvey was born, why didn't you just tell those people to go away and stop answering your phone?

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