Made the official announcement on Novalee’s Instagram for our rebrand, which ultimately will introduce this blog to the public. Initially felt wary since this has been more for me and future Novalee, but then I think to myself, who really reads these nowadays anyway? The most likely audience will still remain just us two and so the thought of that is a bit more calming. As a girl who grew up with several hard-cover journals, I’ve enjoyed the secret passage to vent to, and it forces me to reorganize this often ransacked brain of mine.
Sorting out further thoughts, Alex and I have decided that I will most likely get tubal ligation if I end up having a c-section again so that it wouldn’t be unnecessary surgery for Alex in the future. Then this morning, I saw a post from a Mom who stated how much she missed the beginnings of her kiddos childhood, hardship included, and Alex asked me if we were 100% sure we wanted to do this since it gave me the feels reading her post. I responded 99%, and he said that’s still not enough to do something that is permanent. I didn’t say anything else, but in my mind, the real thought was, I don’t want to test the strength of our marriage that far. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I don’t hear a lot about how much having children really tests relationships–with your friends, your spouse, yourself. I know I have a wonderful husband in every single way, but there are still times I feel so alone, neglected, and misunderstood (hi, I’ve just morphed into a teenage millennial ). Sure, the surging hormones this pregnancy isn’t helping, but I may have been already feeling a little bit this way before conception of Baby #2. I can’t remember. My life has been more overwhelming than it’s ever been this past year, for better and for worse, and I’m trying to figure out how to cope with it all while smiling outwardly . I am an adult dammit; I need to behave like one, suck it up, and move forward. Women have been going through this since the beginning of time and made it through, thus the self-pity needs to be kept at a minimal. Ignore that nagging reminder that I’ll soon be back in the pits of hourly feedings, painfully engorged boobs, constant cleaning, zombie mode. Don’t judge my current state of sourness; I still have another 13 hours until the New Year when I make empty promises to be a better person.