I will admit it... I am running on empty. My briefly reclaimed energy and sense of enthusiasm is currently being sucked away by the trial of making people on the inside, and wrangling the ones on the outside. I am a slave to my raging hormones who first fill me to bursting with love and wonder one moment and then dash me on the rocks of ennui and exhaustion the next....
Apparently I am also a Drama Llama. ;) But I am tired, sore, and brain dead... and I'm only three months in. *shudder* I think it's worse when you know what you are in for.
Don't get me wrong... I am happy to be making the next installment of crazy. The way I feel about my children is indescribable and life alteringly wonderful. We will now be a three chapter bestseller .. but let's face it... being pregnant also reminds you of why men have been running amuck and starting wars unchecked all this time and not women. I am too damn tired to do anything except exist and snuggle on the couch and I have no extra brain space. As I like to remind my poor long-suffering Hubbs regularly, "You know this shit used to KILL us allthedamntime. And not just the delivery part! Just the pregnancy could do us in.", but, then he does something sweet, like clean the kitchen, and I just can't keep spouting Non-Baby-Making hate speech at him... I mean, that sink was FOUL and he was a brave man to jump in there without some serious Hazmat-like protection.
But here's my Pregnant Working Mom's 1st World Problem: Who am I and where did I go and when will I get back?
When everyone is weaned and on the outside you get used to some sort of "Mom Autonomy". While the kids are at school you can go to work, sip your coffee, and make big girl decisions. You can think about things other than who may need to go sit on the potty, what to make for dinner, and selling nap time to a cranky toddler. (Obviously... I am not SAHM material. Duh, right? I actually gave it a go... and then needed anti-depressants and someone to peel me off the ceiling every day around 4 p.m... No bueno.) But now that I am pregged-up, my Mom Time is seeping into my Non-Mom Time in a big way. I am a 24/7 baby-making-palooza with no breaks and NO Vacays. Par for the course, yeah, but no less difficult. All those little de-stressing activities (i.e. - Reading Smut and Pinterest Inspirations) I had before implantation have fallen by the wayside out of sheer tired. And, because this ain't mah first rodeo, I know it's going to be a coon's age before I find my energy and can resume aforementioned funs. Whaaaaaaa!
Yes... I would like some cheese with my Whine. Because I can't HAVE wine... so bring extra cheese. And crackers. And tacos.
So, in short (and just short), I am a mess of grieving my "Me-Reclaiming" mixed with Supa-excitement over meeting our newest mess maker. Oh, and ugly crying over episodes of "Supernatural". The one where the lesbian LARPer reads "The Hobbit" to her comatose Mom right before they take her off life support just about did me in. Seriously.