Bitch-baby

That's me.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm just in a mood. A funk. A stage. Whatever you want to call it.

I can't get out of it.

I feel like maybe it's post-partum depression. Except for, you know, the baby was born 15 months ago.

But it's been going on that long. At least. And I'm growing weary of faking it. So I rarely blog, call or email. I annoy myself; why inflict me on others?

Natalie graduated preschool today. I have no idea why I find that so distressing.

The bus bully punched Jack square in the nose. I found this out after another substitute bus driver took him home the wrong way again, forcing Tom to chase down the bus like I did last time. Jack got off the bus, crying about getting punched and being kidnapped.

I know exactly why I find that so distressing.

Bonnie keeps falling and hitting her head. Hard. Front, back, sides, she's an equal opportunity head slammer.

My family doesn't do well with head injuries. Hence, the reason I freak out and check on her 2,750,913x's during the night after she slams her head. All I can think of is poor Natasha Richardson. And Dell from Private Practice. Yeah, I know he's not real. But still.

I'm so tired all the time. Tired and ready to cry. And yet I stay up way too late doing stupid things like labeling the pictures in my iPhoto albums.

I'm pretty sure I have diabetes. Basically, because my mother says I'm going to get it. Her saying so and me thinking it is a double whammy -- she's always right and I will myself into contracting illnesses when I hear about them. The power of self-suggestion is a mofo in my case. Totally sucks.

Okay, enough whining. I'm as annoying as Natalie's Hannah Montana CD right now.

Time to go not sleep for another hour or so.

Wait, I am in charge of the cheese and crackers platter for Natalie's school party tomorrow.

We have no cheese and no crackers in the house.

FUCK.