to accept the things I cannot change;
the power to change the things I can;
and the wisdom to know the difference today.
Once upon a time, way back in TTC land, I swore that IF Derek and I were able to get pregnant that I wouldn't complain about anything - no matter how bad it was - because I was going to be so thankful for the chance to have a baby. I broke my promise. I can't not complain... I don't want to but I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't... So this is going to be a whiny, woe-is-me post... but you've been warned.
One of my closest friends had her baby last night and it brought up loads of emotions for me - excitement, happiness, anxiety, and... jealousy. I laid awake most of the night thinking [and dealing with contractions and a killer backache] about how ready I am to be DONE. I realize that Cohen isn't ready yet and that me being uncomfortable for a few more weeks is a small price to pay for a healthy baby... but still, uncomfortable doesn't even begin to sum it all up. Most of the day I'm having contractions at least every 7 minutes and in the evening it's almost always every 3 minutes. They hurt, they make my back cramp up, and they make it impossible to fall asleep or even get comfortable enough to just lie there and rest. My meds, while I'm sure they are doing wonders, make me shaky and light-headed, cause me to feel flushed for the first hour after my dose, and give me raging headaches... I'm weak from lying around doing nothing for weeks on end to the point where standing up long enough to take a shower is getting exhausting. I have to choose between eating and drinking enough water because my stomach is so smooshed that it can't handle both - so I either drink my water and get yelled at for not eating enough, or I eat and get yelled at for not drinking enough.
On top of being physically miserable, I'm mentally spent... I want to be cleaning [nesting has kicked in big time] and I can't do anything. The nursery isn't ready, the house is... gross, laundry is piling up, our bathroom smells like man-smell, my car is a disaster, the yard has five wind storms worth of crap blowing around in it, and the list goes on. By the time I'm off super-strict bed rest and allowed to at least exist in my house, I'll be nine months pregnant... and cleaning toilets and bathtubs at that point is going to be a total circus. Nesting isn't my only problem... I just feel... I don't know... sad? lonely? I lie here in an empty house all day and even if I open up the window, I only get to look at a fence [and sometimes our cat who stands on the doghouse and yowls at me]. Sure, I get to watch my TV shows and could be reading a book or working on lesson plans but I just don't want to. All the things I want to be doing are off limits - it's like being grounded.
On top of all that, I just want to meet this little guy - I don't have the intense fear of labor that I had with Addison that helped me stave of the desire to head to the hospital. I'm ready, I want to hold him and love on him, I want my family to be here, I want to start living our life as a little family of four. I realize that a few more weeks is nothing and that he'll be here and life will be wonderful... but if you've ever been pregnant you'll understand that time slows down to a snails pace during the last few weeks and days feel like months... and a month feels like eternity. So I'm having trouble grappling at two and a half more weeks in this bed, in this room...
So please forgive me for wallowing in self-pity, I do realize that things could be exponentially worse... but I'm ready and I just wish that this kiddo was ready too.