Tomorrow is the first in a whirlwind of appointments (four in the next twelve days) for Louisa which will hopefully result in A- an explanation as to what exactly is going on with her, i.e., a diagnosis and B – a plan as to what exactly we are going to do about it.  I am so nervous that I am currently stress-eating sleeves of Ritz crackers because A- I don’t drink (stupid breastfeeding) B – I don’t smoke anymore either, damn it, C – food is my drug of choice when confronted with feelings that I don’t want to feel and D- we don’t have anything else in the house, i.e., pizza and/or brownies and/or something delicious and fattening that is probably going to kill me.

Not much else to say except… A- please say a little prayer for her/me/us?, B – I would totally kill for a cigarette right now (for really realz I am not even kidding) and/or a box of wine (stupid breastfeeding) and C- please send pizza and/or fattening deliciousness asap.