I miss my brain

*sung to the tune of I miss my lung, by Frenzal Rhomb*

So I know I’m being super dramatic right now, but I’m ok with it. I understand that in every hissy fit, every tantrum, my inner child is running amok. But with that comes healing for her, reconnection with her, opening of dialogue to, once again, redefine my relationship with her. I’ll be inviting her to teach me how to play again, shamelessly revel in the excitement of a moment.

I’m so bored. Uninspired. In utter disbelief that I could possibly do LESS per day than I have been. Battling with doing less when I feel ok to do more… then crashing when I do the things. I’m wiped out emotionally, staring at a vast array of little emotional messes that I know I need to clean up before I become a mum. Anxious that I won’t get through them all, suspicious that He won’t arrive until I have.

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