Shit, shit, shit this is my life. (Sorry for the language. My husband will probably be proud when he reads this. He tends to have a colorful vocabulary and I tend to nag him for it. But, sometimes a curse word conveys what regular words cannot.) That is my thought when I open my eyes first thing this morning. I am a mother, but my arms are empty and the nursery down the hall is silent. Shit, shit, shit. Time to find my way through another day.