Happy Valentine’s Day!
Ten days ago, I had botox injected into 31 spots in my temples, scalp, neck, and shoulders in the hopes that it would do something to help the chronic migraines I’ve been getting for the past few years. It’s kind of terrifying to be at the point where I’m voluntarily paralyzing some of my neck and shoulder muscles just to be able to live my life, but at this point I’m desperate. I’ve tried yoga and meditation and medication and massage and vitamins and basically everything else, and here we are.
Do you ever have those moments where you know you’re acting completely irrationally but you’re so deeply invested in what’s happening and you have so many feelings about it that you have no other option but to just follow your shitty behaviour through to its unpleasant conclusion?
I ask becauser currently, I find myself sitting in my bedroom – my adult woman bedroom – sulking, because I hate my Christmas tree.
Last month, Olive turned six years old.
I woke up in the soft grey of early morning and made waffles in our quiet kitchen, my feet cold against the stone tiles.
As I did, I thought about each of the past six years, right back to the beginning. Those months where I carried her inside of me; when I became so used to her tumbling, kicking, curious presence that my belly felt oddly still and empty after.