My house is officially disgusting.

There are toys everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. There are books and dolls and stuffed animals in every direction. There is a bowl of Goldfish that I keep replenishing as her staple snack.

There’s dog hair collecting in corners and the broom stands there whispering “Come on…you can do it.”

Dishes are piled up in the sink. Ill load them in the dishwasher when I have my 15 minute spurt of energy around 4pm tomorrow.

And my bathroom? OMG. Take your cell phone with you incase you need to call for help from the grossness of it all, aka towels everywhere and overflowing garbage.

Dustin went grocery shopping yesterday and I couldn’t help but notice he stocked up on things he could cook (all by himself). Soup. Pasta. Hamburger Helper. Cans of tuna and salmon for sandwiches.

He knows how useless I am right now. I’m barely surviving on 8 diclectin a day. Lily is basically being raised by the television and the books all over the livingroom, and on easy meals I can prepare for her without barfing, like fruit and cheese and peanut butter sandwiches. I barely see my friends. They are either scared to come over because my house is in such dissaray, or they’ve left me to wallow in my first trimester awesomeness. I feel alone.

I’m not depressed. I’m not sad or anything, I’m happy and thankful for many things. I realize how lucky I am to be carrying a baby and have a wonderful husband and a beautiful, healthy daughter. But I feel alone. Fucking sicker than SICK, and alone.

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