You always lose with Mr. Booze.

I used to think I was a mean drunk. Not all of the time, but some of the time. Usually when someone pissed me off. I was fine and dandy until something was said that irked me to no end. And then I’d say hateful things. Things that I would immediately regret. Things that I was totally feeling and thinking, but things that just didn’t need to be said outloud.

But now, since not drinking, I’ve come to realize that it’s not the booze. It’s me.

And when I say that I’ve come to realize, I actually mean that it’s been pointed out to me.

By my husband.

Saturday night on our way home from a birthday party we got into a tiff.

“I know I’m irritable and bitchy. I’m pregnant for crying out loud. Read up on the fucking symptoms, I’m supposed to be this way!”

“No, you were like this before becoming pregnant. You’ve ALWAYS been like this.”

Great. Now my husband is basically telling me that I’m a bitch.

So, I went to bed mad. Woke up at 6am to the FUCKING TENANT SNORING again, sad. And have been incredibly sad ever since.

If I’m this bad of a wife, what kind of mother am I going to be?

Urs.