Remember that time when I first drew comic related to Tumbling Together?
I thought it was just a few panels I drew for fun and now it has grown into a 9-page-on-going something in my sketch book like what’s the hell???

I really didn’t see that coming…

Feet and lips are swollen, Stevie decided to go on a partial nursing strike when we hit home from the hospital and may be dehydrated, pediatrician thought that wasn’t a but enough deal to schedule me today so we wait until tomorrow (i guess technically later today since it’s almost 4am here,) Steve wont stop crying until he’s red and hoarse because he’s hungry but won’t latch on most of the time even though im producing enough to feed him, which kills me, it physically hurts me that he’s doing this and i don’t know why or how to fix it. I’m tired, but i expected tired. I didn’t expect to feel like my baby doesn’t want me, that i’m a bad mommy because i can’t help him, or that my mother was right when she said i shouldn’t have kids because i’d be a terrible mother. I didn’t expect to cry myself to sleep when Tim relieves me for a nap at night because Stevie can’t sleep and is fussy unless he has skin-to-skin contact. I didn’t expect to be an utter failure so early on

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.