(I’ve now had that damn Foo Fighters song stuck in my head all morning)
This morning, as I was getting ready for work at the far far far too early time of 5:45am, I heard my dog in the bedroom start to throw up.
I walked from bathroom to bedroom, where I looked at my husband, who was sitting up in bed, looking at the dog. The three of us looked at each other in silence, kind of… waiting for the adult to show up and deal with the dog-throw up situation.
The adult never showed up, and Mike and I agreed: there was a strong possibility that if we did absolutely nothing, the dog would probably eat his own throw up, lessening the clean up considerably.
Ok, look, I know: that’s gross. But it was EARLY and I had WORK to get to and, well, we’ve tried this method before and it’s worked out pretty well and and and ok, whatever, we (…Mike) cleaned up the mess and I ran to work.
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Last night was a tough one for me. Not for any particular reason, just, you know… late pregnancy. I’m tired and by the end of the day it hurts my ribs to sit for long periods of time, it’s hard to eat food even though I need it, it’s hard to do anything, really, and there’s so much that needs to get done. We had errands to run related to the construction project and while I had fun picking out this and that at Lowes with Mike, we stopped to get dinner before and see above re sitting and eating and ugh, all I wanted was to be asleep.
Counting down the minutes until the Unisom kicks in is not really how I want to spend my time with my family, but right now – or, ok, yesterday – that’s all they got from me. Last night was a tough one.
—
I had a little pity party for myself in the shower today. It was early – I needed to be in the office by 6:30am for reasons that are too stupid to go into – and I was thinking: “This is hard. Keeping it together at work is hard right now. And I have no energy to contribute at the end of the day at home, I’m using all my reserves to make sure work is not falling apart. And then the baby will come, and that will be hard, too, and then just 6 weeks later I’ll go back to work and that will be hard in the same way it’s hard now, but also even harder at home. I don’t see this getting any easier. This is just hard. Maybe this is too hard.”
(I get a little melodramatic when left to my own internal thoughts.)
And, whatever, then I got ready for work and went in.
—
The meeting I had this morning – the reason I had to be in so early – went well. Awesome, even. I feel great. I am good at this. Things don’t seem too hard, right now. I’m actually, even, having fun. But here’s the thing: I’m not sure this is what I’m supposed to be good at. Work is getting all my energy and I get home and I feel like I have nothing left. Some of this is, of course, late stage pregnancy conditional, I know that, I do know that. But I miss that other side of my life, and feeling good there, too. I don’t want the best parts of me to only be available during work hours.
InnerTeub 
I remember having a similar “hard” realization myself. It was a week or so after having Iris and I was just standing at home and felt so bone tired and tapped the eff out and in one of my more dramatic-Lifetime-movie-moments, I literally slumped to the floor. Like the weight of thinking ahead to when I might maybe not be tired kind of slayed me.
Shit turned kind of bleak but then it got better. I mean, life goes on right? You have to keep on truckin’. And baseline tired has kind of become my norm, so I figure until I take that dirt nap this is what it’s going to be like.
This is … both very comforting and very not. I’m going to go with comforting, though 🙂
You’re right, though: life has to go on. And I like my life. So that’s a plus 🙂
Holy Crazy Bananas, woman, you are speaking my language. And I’m not even pregnant. Garrett asked me about my day the other night over dinner and I was just like “Don’t ask, man, I can’t talk about it. I just spent all my energy living it. I’m DONE FOR THE DAY.” And then I took a step back and saw what a wonderfully engaging dinner conversationalist I have surely been over the past year. No one is getting a good wife trophy around my house.
I so feel you about not wanting the best parts of me to be available during work hours! As we mix in dog drama and other responsibilities into our lives, and as I start to get that feeling like my plate is dangerously close to overflowing, I keep having these panic attacks thinking “Look at all of this shit going on, and now people expect me to just up and make a person from scratch and then raise them too IN ALL OF MY SPARE TIME. WTF, World?” I
mean, who even thinks that is a good idea?!?!?!
But, you adapt. I adapt. We all adapt. In our expectations and our executions and such. That’s the great thing about us humans — we’re pretty good at evolving. And the world has been ending since the beginning of time, right, so I have to think we are getting better and better at dealing with it 😉
I’m sorry you are going through a rough patch! I empathize. But I also have to say you are just about the most adorable pregnant lady ever, you kick ass and take names at your job, and I can’t imagine you won’t do the same at this motherhood gig and find a way to make it all work FOR YOU. You’re one of the smartest cookies I know. You’ll get through it. And you best be taking some god damn notes that you will pass on when the time is right, friend. 🙂
xo
I have those hard moments all the time. I’m right in the middle of one, having over committed myself and over estimated the amount of time I would have once both kids were in school. Someone should have told me that nine hours with both kids elsewhere really isn’t as much time as one might think. But this weekend I just relaxed. We had places to be, but also a lot of time to just be at home in stretchy pants, and that is what keeps me sane – a little bit of stretchy pants time in the middle of the insanity.
No words of wisdom here just…I FEEL YOU.
This is hard, the pity parties are real, and sometimes I wonder how in the world I’m going to do it all. I just keep telling myself it’s like the last few miles of a marathon (or other long race) — those miles are so tough, you know it’s only going to get tougher, and you wonder just how you’re going to find the strength to keep going. But somehow…you keep trucking on. And in the end you find you’re so much stronger than you think.
Cheesy and cliche, I know…but it’s all I got right now.