Early morning. I went to bed at 9 yesterday. So tired. I have lit all the candles in the living room and me and Woolly are in the soft glow from the Christmas tree. I’m reading an easy book with my cup of tea.
I do everything to not think about the fact that my period came today. Again. I dreamt that we had a baby and it hated me. To the point that it left to live with another family. Don’t even get me started on what that might mean.
In the darkness of a lonely morning with George still in bed I’m just sad. And a bit hopeless. There is no pretending for friends or colleagues or George. It’s just me and the fact that I’ve been hoping for a year and it feels so, so far away. I don’t even remember how to believe this is going to happen any longer.
I’ll just have to put my love on my little furry baby instead.