I am so sick.

Sick of waking up every morning at 6am because I can’t breathe through my nose and my sinuses are screaming.

Sick of constantly worrying that the baby isn’t OK, that something bad will happen and it will all go wrong.

Sick of worrying that nobody will want to hire me freelance and I will have to go back to working in an office full time.

Sick of trying so so hard to organize our finances yet 7 year old bills coming back to ruin my week and make me feel like a naughty immature bad-with-money teenager.

Sick of caring that my thighs are getting bigger and I can see the beginnings of cellulite. It shouldn’t, and doesn’t, matter.

Sick of being tired.

And very very sick that I’m not able to make everything seem better with a couple of glasses of wine.