mil frustration

you’re NOT a child i know this seriously YOU’RE A FUCKING SENIOR CITIZEN i don’t want to revert resort to a meme but sometimes ok boomer i don’t want to misdiagnose you and maybe it would be easier if you actually were bipolar but i’m not supposed to use the term if you’re not ACTUALLY but i don’t know how else to describe it you’re a teenager and if i think of it that way you’re marginally easier to deal with but i swear you’re also as frustrating as a teenager (not that i’d actually know since i don’t have them myself)(nor will i ever) but holy shit you’re also not useless i know you’re not useless you’ve been on this planet so much longer and i’m sure you’re fine on your own but put a man around you whether it be your husband or your son (and so much always your son which is my husband now he’s an adult he’s a fucking adult can you not see that he’s a goddamn FUCKING adult) and suddenly oh no i know nothing i need your help do this do that and it chafes my modern feminist heart (which isn’t my whole heart but it’s enough of a section maybe that’s me being a partial elder statesman millennial i don’t know but holy fuck either way goddamn it CHAFES) and i’m not strong enough to ignore it and to school my face and maybe if i were in regency england or when you yourself were a child then maybe but i’m NOT i’m NOT and i won’t be i know i can change but i will NOT change in this because it’s not ME that’s the problem everyone else in the family likes me but YOU and YOUR HUSBAND and it’s all because i took your son and took him away (far far away) and you resent me for it and you hate me for it and i know there is nothing i can do to make you happy (except to pop out a million grandbabies and to move next door and to completely change who i am and) so is it even worthwhile for me to make the effort and i swear it’s not so i’m not i’m not bothering fuck you i’m not going to be happy i’m not going to be fake i’m not going to do it i’m staying me i’m not playing a role i’m not that good of an actress i’m not i’m not i’m not i’m sorry husband i can’t do it i know it’s hard for you and i know you’re struggling but if she’s not going to make an effort if she’s going to change her personality and be useless (how much do i hate useless) i’m not i’m not i’m not i’m not i’m not i’m not i’m not
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mil frustration, 1.18.20

Meet Amelia Alice

A few weeks ago – August 7, to be exact – I became an aunt. As you may recall from my previous post on style, I went to my sister-in-law’s baby shower. Obviously baby showers mean that a baby is on the way, and the end result was Amelia Alice. Born six weeks early, she spent a few weeks in the NICU, although she’s home now, but still on oxygen to be safe.

Due to being so early, we first saw her under a heat lamp and thought she looked like a baked potato – thus our nickname for her is “Potato.” Which works out well, weirdly, as Stefan and Nicole have taken to calling her Ams so we can easily turn that into Yams.

On a side note, it’s sad that a newborn preemie has better fingernails than I do.

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My brother.

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Me.

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Holding on to Brandon’s finger.

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Feeding time with Dad as Mom watches on.

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The dinosaurs meet their “cousin” for the first time.

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Tummy time with Aunt T and dinosaurs.