I love being pregnant. Really, I do.
But I have to admit that this time is different. I am still completely wiped -- I feel like someone sucked all of my energy like I was a sour wedge of lemon before a shot of tequila and now I'm sitting here all rind and pulp and missing my juice.
I think I was completely spoiled having the 22nd - 3rd off for winter break. I spent far more time in my jammies than I did in clothing and far more time on the couch, snuggling and playing with blonde cuties than working. And I loved it. And, other than the totally annoying cough, I felt great.
And now I'm back to the harsh reality of working full-time and raising kids. Thank goodness that Scott's done with work-week evenings for a while. At the end of the month, he's done with working weekends for a while, too. And I can't wait.
Last night, I found myself crawling into bed, aching absolutely everywhere, sore hips, sore back, sore pelvis, sore everything. And I couldn't get comfortable. And my poor, snuggly missing-his-family-because-he's-been-working-too-hard hubby simply draped his arm over my hip to cuddle me as he drifted off to sleep.
And I nearly cried. Because the weight of that arm felt like just too much. After working all day and going out to dinner with his parents last night, I just couldn't bear the weight of something else on my worn out body. But I adore him and surely didn't want to hurt his feelings since I know he would have felt bad for making me feel worse and felt bad because of hurt feelings. So I waited until he was asleep and shimmied out from underneath his arm.
I hate feeling like a whiner, especially since I know that this will be my last pregnancy, these babies my final ones and that makes every little kick and poke precious to me -- I'll never again get to feel life growing inside me. I am sentimental and a bit wistful about that. As I'm typing this paragraph, Baby B is kicking the desk where my belly rests and I love it.
But good gravy, it's getting cramped in there and I still have 14.5 weeks left. I'm already measuring 11 weeks ahead and that's before the babies start packing on the ounces in that third trimester. I have no idea what I'll be able to wear at the end, nor how one can even walk when that big.
I am repeatedly grateful that, aside from general exhaustion and discomfort, I am a healthy mom. I don't barf endlessly, nor do I swell up like a water balloon. My complaints are small and I know it. But on days like today, I am just so unbelievably tired I can't stand it. And thinking about my bed gives my hips phantom pain, so while napping sounds mega-appealing, I haven't a clue how to do it comfortably right now.
So, anyway, before you take that shot of tequila, please check to make sure I'm not the lemon you're squeezing -- I'd like to keep what's left of my juice for the upcoming stretch, please?