• life

    Unhappy With My New Home

    I lie awake watching pimple-popping videos at 3 am on move-in day. I was stressed about moving into our new home which was, as far as I was concerned, a dump. The disappointment was real, but the anxiety was in galactic. The morning before, Friday, my husband and I sat in his car and debated who would run to QuikTrip—a gas station St. Louisans are obsessed with—for breakfast and who would stay with for the internet installation.  I volunteered to stay with the baby because that was most practical. Fifteen seconds later I burst into tears. I’ve cried a lot in life–well as much or less than any other woman–but…