I am sick of this.
Sick of not sleeping, sick of sleeping at the wrong times.
It’s screwing me up, and you don’t seem to notice quite how much.
If you can’t support me now, how is it going to be with a baby?
How are you going to cope with the sleepless nights and the crying?
How am I going to cope?

Ugh, I just want you to come downstairs and maybe say sorry.
But tomorrow morning, again, you won’t remember.
You’re mean, and spiteful and make me cry more than I hoped you ever would.

I love you so much, and I can’t wait to be a family, but I don’t know how that’s going to work. I’m scared.