Three Hours of Sleep, Twelve Hours of Trying to Sleep.

I am stressed and tired beyond the point of really feeling it anymore. Since this apartment is almost lined with mirrors, however, I have plenty of opportunity to see the lines that are deepening on the skin of my face. It has been less than three weeks, but I am struggling not to begin filling this journal with the really dark thoughts that are starting to settle into the corners of my mind as if they plan to stay there, guarding the door against all the happiness and sweetness that motherhood is supposedly about. Sometimes it feels like all those images of idealized motherhood must be designed for the purpose of torturing people like me with evidence of my failure to get with the program.

Today I think I'll just try turning off my emotions as much as possible. Let's see how that works.

I am so envious of Andor for being more than just a vending machine to her. And for being able to sleep when she is attached to me for hours, keeping me awake and wandering lonely through the bleak landscapes of my sleep-deprived, hormone-riddled brain.  And for having meaningful work to do, and for having a creative life, and for being able to relieve his sexual frustration because his organs haven't been ripped apart.

But my baby is really cute.