Today was hard. I feel like crying. It's not hard in the way people seem to think it would be, like crazy with a doubled family size, or hyper kids, or insurmountable language issues. It's hard because no child seems to think I'm being enough or doing enough for them. Today the guilt was laid on thick, in non-English speaking looks and sulks, and in very clear words by the all-too-eloquent English speakers. Lacking the strength to do otherwise, I took it all to heart. It hurts to have your kids imply that you've deliberately messed up their happy lives. And everybody seems to feel robbed by the loss of baby brother Charles all over again.
I keep trying to write something more about how people view having a biological new baby versus adopting non-infants, but it keeps coming out wrong and I am well aware that my words are immortal in cyberspace. Some things are just not meant to be blogged about. Save it for the book, right?
Oh and, P.S., I guess there's actually no need for me to go eat worms because I already have a worm of sorts--found out today that the big spots on my cheek and arm are ringworm. Yippee.
Gees, I'm pathetic. Put me to bed.