When's Daddy Coming Home?
Can I be honest? (So much of what you read on blogs--including this one--are the rose colored highlights that people want to document, rather than the realities of life. This is a glimpse of reality right now:) I really don't like who I am these days. Postpartum hormones have collided with weeks of very little sleep to create a very on-edge me. I'm mean, I'm weepy, I'm irrational, and I hate it. I'm in a fog, which I know will lift in time, like all fogs do. (My fog after Noah was born lasted about 6 weeks.) But in the meantime, I'm praying that the Lord will help me be spirit-filled, because the flesh sure is ugly!
I knew it was bad when, after I had snapped at him for the umpteenth time in a single afternoon, Noah looked at me with a quivering chin and asked, "When's Daddy coming home?" Poor guy.
What I want to know is, "When is Mommy coming back?" Because I really miss her.
I knew it was bad when, after I had snapped at him for the umpteenth time in a single afternoon, Noah looked at me with a quivering chin and asked, "When's Daddy coming home?" Poor guy.
What I want to know is, "When is Mommy coming back?" Because I really miss her.
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