Little things like a cup of hot, strong tea, a sweet kiss on the cheek, a touch on the hand; they let me focus on what’s going on around me, all the good that’s around me.
Especially now, when my uterus is using my lower back as a punching bag (those near and dear to me have heard various similar metaphors, along with the utterance “my uterus is a treacherous bitch“) and I’m living Advil to Advil.
I just, I hate acting a stereotype. I love everyone around me, even when I’m angry. It’s just that these distinctly unpregnant pangs emanating from my lower abdomen can get a little aggravating. And if I snark at you, it’s just the moon-lady talking.
That, or you’re being unforgivably irritating.
© Emily Bragg 2013