... doesn't fit any more.
Some days I look in the mirror and I don't recognise me. There's too much age; too much weight; there's a spark missing; I'm lacking in motherhood and there's too much sad in the eyes that stare back at the me that should be holding George.
Other days I feel more me than I ever did in my teens, twenties or thirties.
Admittedly these non-fitting days are days that usually have somewhere in the region of "14dpo" attached to them so I try not to pay too much attention to the hormone riddled, disappointed, bloated brain that over-thinks over-dramatic thoughts of this calibre. But still. There they are these thoughts, nudging, insisting and nibbling away at hope.
As soon as my period arrives, which I'm sure it will by Tuesday, after a huge rush of the "Waaaaah, why me's" I start to get over it, start planning, start hoping and start wishing again. It is just so very very tiring being a hostage to time.
And for now, if you don't mind, I feel like crying big fat hormonal tears. Feel free to look the other way and I'll be back shortly with some optimism.