emotional...

Yesterday started out as another close to pain free day. My sister came over with 2 of her kids and they played with my youngest for hours. I chatted with my sister like nothing was different, it was nice. I'd tease her about having to make me lunch or get me stuff. She brought her 2 tiny dogs and I was in heaven, for a little bit. My sister is older than me, but you wouldn't know it. For some reason, she has escaped any trace of wrinkles even though she was so much more the sun worshipper. I tease her about being a cougar even though she's happily married, only in the sense that she always has a cute outfit on with jewelry to match, hair and make-up done. She is one of the few people who actually looks better as they get older... seriously.

During this visit, my husband texts and asks if I'm up for going to dinner. I smile at the thought. Of something back to normal and at the reality of actually getting out of the house because I do, actually, feel good.

Then it started to fall apart. I feel ugly. Really ugly. My stupid half washed hair. My shirt with drains constantly pulling at them. My posture from leaning slightly forward (I swear the new boob skin is too tight) and not feeling like I can stand straight. I'm not a vain person, anyone who knows me, knows that. But I do enjoy being clean and halfway put together. I miss my running body. I feel the blobbiness already.

This ended with me sitting in bed, calling my husband and asking when he's coming home. "I can't go to dinner" I sob. He says, "yea, I guessed that". I love him. I cried and ignored my kids until his arrival (they still have the Nana here thank God). It was like waiting for my knight in shining armor. I knew that he, and he alone could help me feel better and I knew that he was the only one I wanted contact with at that moment.

As I knew he would, he came in and saved the day. He didn't think I was crazy for the breakdown, took care of dinner for the kids and planned for a movie night. He told me this was all normal and ok to be like this. I don't know exactly what happened. It wasn't the pain and I really don't feel like it was about the boobs either. I wasn't sobbing, wishing for them back. I guess I tried too hard and too fast to get back into life. I told Corey I just wanted more time alone, but couldn't pinpoint why. After a good cry, we decided that he and Dylan would watch Star Wars downstairs, and Casey would watch The Little Mermaid with me in bed. It was lovely. I can't think of a better word. Throughout the movie, I would look over at her and brush the hair from her face and feel her cheek with the back of my hand. I needed that.

It's ok to cry. It's ok to breakdown, even if you don't know why. Believe me, this is kind of the theme for my life, but I'm always able to pick myself back up. Thank God for family, for Corey.