I'm just so so sooooo tired. All the time. I get nine hours of sleep a night, and I'm still tired. This makes my writing kind of suck. I've written, oh, four entries in the last week or however long it's been, and scrapped them all because they make ME roll my eyes and gag over the boringness/whininess/stupidness of them. And I'm pretty willing to post just about anything.
People keep asking me how I'm doing. Honest answer:
- I'm exhausted all the time. *With your first kid, you can nap whenever you want during pregnancy. It's glorious! With your second, you can nap when she naps... maybe. Except that her naptime is the only 2-3 hours of the day in which you can do whatever you want, and why waste that sleeping? Even when I do make myself try to nap, I just lie awake thinking about the fun stuff I could be cramming into my day instead of lying awake in bed. Moron.
(But really, if I hear, "Sleep when the baby sleeps!" one more time, I might punch someone. That only happens when I'm out of my mind with exhaustion.)
- All of the muscles in the front of my body from about mid-thigh to my belly button have given up. They are cranky and sore and at least one them screams every time I stand up. This happened with Grace, too, but I thought it was because of those stupid bees that chased me around the front lawn, and maybe I pulled a muscle. No, actually. This just happens. Super!
- The remainder of my energy is spent feeling guilty about how little attention The Child is getting. The first five hours of the day are endless. She's delightful and beautiful and happy and funny, but I'm too tired to enjoy it. This makes me feel like the most awful mother ever. Especially since, every night after she goes to bed, it dawns on me yet again that I have only a few more weeks of just her. From now on, it will always be multiple children with seven different demands going at once. It seems so stupid that I'm too tiiiiiired (waaaah) to just suck it up and enjoy these last few weeks with her.
- There are, of course, other, ickier things that I won't go into here, but that most women who have had children know all about. Basically, at the end of pregnancy, everything is squished or stressed, and that causes many different processes to go completely haywire. People, pregnancy is totally freaking bizarre.
(I am telling you people, when you do get pregnant for the first time, I highly recommend cornering you most honest, crass friend (like me!) and forcing her to tell you all the things that nobody talks about. Nobody talks about them because it's rude to offer unsolicited advice, but I so very much wished sometimes that I had more rude, pushy people in my life. Some stuff is much easier to handle if you have forewarning.
*I actually waited tables until I was 6 months pregnant, then we were fixing up and moving into our house (which was a trash-out, so really filthy and lots of work). It wasn't all cozy naptime. But it was still so much easier for me than this time. I'd go to bed at like 2 in the morning, wake up at like 5, raring to go, and then crash midday for hours. It was weird.
The funny part is that I have it easy. I really do. Pregnancy is a breeze for me, compared to others. Which is why I don't ever give an honest answer. Because it's annoying to hear me whine. It's like when your classmate in high school with flawless skin harps on and on about that single stupid zit that's half hidden in her hairline, while your entire face is blotchy and yuck, half of it so oily its shine is visible from space and half of it so dry you look like you have leprosy (thanks, chlorine!).
So that's where I've been. Tired. And trying to come up with an answer to, "So, how are you doing?" that is neither a lie nor a laundry list of complaints. I think, "Great... for someone who is 36 weeks pregnant!" works out okay. Maybe. Or is that still too whiny?
In less whiny news, The Child is finally starting to walk. Kind of. I mean, little shuffling steps here and there, one or two at a time. For a kid who is just about fearless in every other way, she's extraordinarily cautious about walking.
Earlier today, I watched from across the room as she climbed onto the couch, placed a throw pillow on the floor next to the couch, and then calmly dove head-first back onto the floor (I don't know why the pillow; it didn't look like she was aiming for it). She lay there, silent, for about ten seconds, like, "Oh! Oh my! That really hurt! I'm rather... surprised..." and then the wailing began.
She stands in her high chair seat and dances, will climb just about anything (if she feels like it), but walking? Are you kidding me? I might fall! On my diapered bottom! On soft carpet!
We are going to move her room to the guest room so that the baby can have the room across from ours. The better to wake me up in the middle of the night. I am pretty sure we will have to disassemble the crib to do this. And because I am made of genius, I lost the directions about, oh, 15 months ago.
As usual, there was more, but I've completely forgotten it all. This child has robbed me of the last shreds of my intellect. Once she's born, I'll probably have to just lie in bed all day, drooling on myself, waiting for people to bring me the baby, and then have to have them latch her on properly.
So, instead of writing something fun and interesting not at all related to children, childbirth, or pregnancy, I'm going to end this awkwardly.