I miss you.
I know it feels like I’ve been distant lately and I’m really sorry about that. It’s not that I don’t love you anymore, I swear, it’s just the smell of you floating down the hallway in the morning, through my bedroom door, makes me want to puke.
Please don’t take it personally. It’s not you. It’s her:
I promise that as soon as the smell of you no longer makes me want to vomit, we’ll pick things up right where we left off because, let’s be honest, there is NO WAY I’m going to be able to raise three kids without you.
I need you to promise me that you won’t leave me in the meantime. I know it’s a lot to ask, for you to just wait around patiently for me to return but, I swear, I’m coming back.
I’m not happy about it, trust me. Of all the things this little one changed up with her surprise appearance, when she decided my uterus would make a good place to be, the loss of our friendship is the one I mourn the most.
It’s not because the advice nurses told me to cut down, I swear. Remember when I was pregnant with Logan? And Brodie? We still hung out all the time. I promise that I would never let some What to Expect book dictate our relationship. I didn’t succumb to peer pressure about giving you up.
I just can’t handle the smell.
I’ll be back for you.