by humanmama on April 28, 2012

As the weeks progressed, and 20-weeks became 22, then 25, then 28, then 30-weeks-along the last time I was pregnant, I felt stronger. Bigger, yes, and slower, but purposeful. Definitely more motivated than I’ve ever been before–probably ever in my life.

Right now, this third time, I do not feel that way. I feel weak. I feel tired. Tired, actually, is such an inadequate word that it seems ridiculous even typing it out. Maybe Exhausted. Bone-weary. Hallucinogenic, like a refugee, or a Navy Seal–just pushing myself to get through one more day, promising myself that there will be rest tonight, that I will feel great tomorrow. And each day I lie again, trying to trick myself into believing that THIS IS THE DAY that I’ll get some sleep. Tonight. Tomorrow I’ll wake up energized, renewed, with hope. But lately, that hasn’t come. It’s never tomorrow.

I know this is a little depressing. But take heart! If you’re pregnant for the first time it’s not until way later that you might feel this way. Maybe never. In fact, I bet you’ll be one of those women who love pregnancy more with each passing time.

beautiful, perfect children in the day

It’s been so bad this time, the exhaustion, that I find myself wishing at OB-GYN appointments that they’ll find something wrong and admit me. I KNOW! Really! Nevermind what I would have to do–who would watch the kids? How bored and horrible would the months left be?! All I can think lately is Good Lord, do I need a fricking break, and there’s only one place I can think of to get one. And that will be three days of bliss. Oh, and catheters, and staples, and something called healing from the manual separation of the abdominal muscles. But otherwise, bliss.

With my luck, they’ll just say “we’re sending you home for bedrest,” and I’ll spend the last month or two doing what I did when I was pregnant the first time, dragging myself around on my bum in the yard, mulching (!) with my hands and a little bucket. It’s hard for me to just shut off. It’s hard for almost all the women I know.

The kids are not making it easier, and that’s hard. I know I’m already very limited in my patience-supply, and when I go upstairs at night at 6:30pm and know that I won’t be done until 9pm it does begin to slowly drive me crazy. Lilly, the baby who used to throw her body toward the crib at night, the toddler who would point and say (through her Nuk) “BED!” when you would try to sing to her, now spends from 7:15 to about 8:45pm every single night making up excuses why she should be up. Mostly, it’s her at the top of the stairs or at the doorway of her room, yelling “MOMMYYYYYY, I NEED TO GO POTTTTYYYYYYY,” but sometimes, being just three, she totally gives herself away–she’ll holler for us like mad and when we come upstairs she might say “NOW I can’t find my RUBBER DUCKIES!” and you know that she’s been playing, not sleeping, not even trying to sleep. She doesn’t sleep in. She doesn’t nap. And she is currently sucking every available ounce of energy I have for her out of my brain through a tiny straw she must have stuck into my spinal chord while I wasn’t looking.

after 6pm

It’s probably an old Epidural scar that she used.

If I was REGULAR me, I could endure. I say “eh, they’re kids!” and I do what needs to be done. I try my hardest. I would be tired but I’d get a burst of energy when they are both asleep. I’ll survive. But pregnancy this time has got me so worn down that I feel crazy at nights, especially when I’m alone, and I yearn for a lock on the outside of their door, and padding on the inside, so that I could just throw them in bed and lock the door and run to the basement and hide out there, alone, until the yelling stopped. Then I’d go up, unlock the door like a good mommy, and put them back in their beds. But they’d be passed out, and hopefully in the morning they wouldn’t remember. Hopefully.

Also, I picked the wrong year to quit drinkin’, if you want to know the truth. -Sigh.- Perhaps the cruelest thing about pregnancy is that when it’s all over, you can’t even sit down with a glass of wine and breathe. What happens the most is that you sit down with a bucket of the kids’ Easter candy and go to town. Not as healthy. In my opinion, that is.

So I’m not nesting this time. Well, I am a little, in that I still have a list of things that should get done. But if you want to know the truth, I’m just waiting to get the energy to do it all. And it’s not coming. And the time, she’s just a-tickin’ away, as usual.

So, Now Accepting Applications to Clean AJ’s House! Among other things. Want to repaint the upstairs hallway?! You know you do. Feel like putting together some new Ikea furniture for me? I bet! Maybe, just maybe, this is God’s way of telling me slow down. Since we all know I probably won’t unless I can’t do anymore. Oh, crap, a lesson. That’s just what I need now.

Well, maybe it is. Okay, then. I’m going to go sit on the couch and do nothing. Wish me luck.


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