Work has been driving me into the ground. I may not work many hours a week (25ish?), but those hours seem to drag on. I hate being the face on a time stamp.
"You'r script will be ready in 45 minutes."
"45 minutes?! How hard is it to count?"
"I am sorry sir. There is much more that goes in to filling a prescription than just counting... not to mention the thiry something prescriptions in front of yours..."
"Well, can you put a rush on it? I need it yesterday and I am supposed to be [insert some place to be RIGHT NOW.]
"Sir, you've has this script for 5 days now... Why is it that you just now need it OH MY EFFING GOODNESS THIS SECOND OR YOU MIGHT DIE?"

And people wonder why I drink.

My little muffin is 9 months old today. I guess 9 months has hit me harder than all the other months because he has almost been an outside baby longer than he was just MY baby. I mean, I guess he wasn't just mine... but he was. Liam is amazing. He loves to give kisses and hugs and high fives. He stood UNASSISTED for 10 seconds on Christmas. He laughs at my stupid jokes. He naps well, sleeps through the night and wakes up with a smile. If this could just last forever, I could (would) die happy. I never, ever want to forget how blessed I am that my boy is here, is real, is TANGIBLE, while so many other mommies with my same IF conditions can only touch their babies in their dreams. Thank you, universe, for giving a nobody a chance at being a mom to a somebody. I promise I won't let you down.