I just needed a really good cry.  I’m done crying.

In all of it’s glory.

I can’t cry anymore.

The lyrics to me don’t articulate a breakup – but this disaster of my mommy dumb situation. I spent the better part of my morning today feeling sorry for myself, as I haven’t had five minutes to do that as I’m always distracted by my husband, children, and that pile of laundry that this morning I didn’t have the energy to fold.

This morning though – Princess M. just decided that the dress that Nana so lovingly handmade for her wasn’t the right shade of green and because there was no pink in it – well, she hated it. I however, had just laid out on the bed trying to push my tummy roll into my size 29 Seven for All Mankind jeans and did that side profile view of myself that looked like I was expecting, but as we are so very aware…I’m not. I didn’t breathe in deep enough though…I just keep short breaths as I pulled my shrunken tank top over my only bra that hasn’t made it through Mr. R’s dryer but is still too big since I lost any breast tissue breast feeding- I then caught a nice long view of the belly fat and stretch marks that looked like land mines on my muffin top.

I began to pant as my anxiety of this entire financial mess took over and I thought I had dis invited my brain from acknowledging the fantasy that I’d love to go on a “I’m no longer a size 6” shopping trip when my lack of consciousness was invaded when Miss M. begins her throwing a complete tantrum as we proceed out the door and into the minivan that is in such a mess that the radio turns itself on and off now for no apparent reason. She was screaming, and I just thought to myself, “she has no clue how truly lucky she is – her life is perfect”. Really. As my mother did for me, I’ve given her the life that I always wanted. It made me sad.

Really sad.

We arrive at her sanctuary of pre-school as the ladies take Princess M. out of the car and into her world of art, music, and reading books that rhyme and have happy endings. As they do, they say,

“How do you ever afford to dress her so beautifully?”

“She has the most exquisite wardrobe”

“Oh My Goodness…where ever do you shop?”

I triumphantly reply that my mother made them for her – as she does all of The Princess M’s clothing – and know that they probably think the contents of my book are reflective of the picture that the Princess takes. I then hit the minivan close button, release the break pedal and the tears start to flow.

I know I’m not the only one in the world that feels this way – and unfortunately there are people out there doing horrible things to escape their own issues – but that’s not me.

I just needed a really good cry.

I’m tired of crying.

And just like that…I have nothing left.