Poor Jim. I mean, he had to have known how crazy I was when he married me (although I think my boobs distracted him until it was too late), but now I am crazy AND growing his child. I am sure he is torn between wanting to lock me in a room to contain my crazy and wanting to make sure I continue to grow said baby.
Usually, I am able to keep going (just keep swimming ...) and stay busy enough until I fall asleep to distract myself from my immense feelings of inadequacy and the mourning of my loss of self. But yesterday I was too worn down to do anything but give in. And poor Jim. Crazy pregnant lady cannot express herself well, and in trying to express how I was feeling, mostly ended up hurting Jim's feelings. While I am crazy, hurting other's is not usually my goal. (Unless it involves someone standing in front of me in line unsure of what they want to order when they get to the cashier or when they feel the need to take 5 minutes to count out exact change.) So then crazy pregnant lady realizes that she isn't expressing herself well and is hurting her very supportive partner, which only adds to her feelings of "oh god, I shouldn't have a child", and viola, more crying as crazy pregnant lady realizes the child is doomed by her craziness. Poor Jim.
In short, Jim is now accepting donations of beer (for himself) and a padded room (for me).
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