Eggshells

I’m feeling completely wound up and on edge today.

I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’m only averaging around 4-5 hours sleep every night right now. After having a kid that has been an extremely good sleeper (we’re talking anywhere between 8-11 hours a night) from around six months of age, a girl gets used to her beauty sleep! Now, because of my worsening PGP, a bladder that seems to be around the same size as a golf ball and the fact that my mind just won’t quit the minute I lie down, those nights are long gone.

Not that I’d necessarily be any better if my sleep situation improved – I think these crazy mood swings are just part and parcel of pregnancy. I seem to have been blessedly spared of any real humdingers this time around – with Joshua it was a constant crazy rollercoaster of emotions (just ask my poor, longsuffering husband!) but for baby number two there has only been the odd one or two outbursts. Until now.

This morning I woke up in a bad mood. Shaun came into the bedroom smiling to wake me after getting himself almost completely ready for work and getting Joshua up and dressed (which meant I could sleep in for an extra half hour). I opened my eyes, grunted “five more minutes” and went back to sleep. When he came back in, I woke up and immediately wanted to be sick. I felt like I was 10 weeks pregnant again with a stomach bug to boot, I was that nauseous. Yuck. I lay there for a couple minutes hoping it would pass. After I realised it wouldn’t, and feeling even worse, I slowly (and painfully) dragged my body into a sitting position with my legs over the edge of the bed, then slowly lowered myself onto the floor. With every slow, shuffling step to the bathroom I felt the storm clouds gather over my head.

Shaun told me he would work from home today. I told him no – he had to be at the office. The only other guy in his department is off on leave until Wednesday, and he had to stay home tomorrow anyway because of my hospital appointments (to look after Joshua – I hate dragging him along when I could be there for a couple hours or more, plus it’s difficult for me to get him in and out of his car seat with my PGP). So I didn’t want to make things any more difficult for him or add any extra pressure.

But honestly, I wanted him here. I felt really sick. He could tell. So he insisted.

Then he went downstairs to get things set up so he could work from the dining room, and to get Joshua sorted with breakfast. While he was gone I was clicking around on Pinterest on the iPad. The sun started shining through the window and I couldn’t see the screen properly. I couldn’t move into another position or get up to close the blinds because my pelvis hurt too much. I suddenly felt very guilty about Shaun staying home… I started crying. I flopped down into the cushions and then began to laugh, because baby boy had decided that particular moment was ideal for a quick kickboxing session. I guess he realised I needed a reminder of why all this was happening, and why my head was so topsy turvy!

A few minutes later I got dressed, headed downstairs and within seconds was snapping at my husband over absolutely nothing. Telling him to “let me have my emotions” and “don’t tell me how to feel” and the like. It was because I felt guilty about him working from home, but of course my silly brain didn’t take a minute to think to talk about that. So I snapped instead.

A little while after that I was laughing at Joshua – he was wearing a smile so big it was threatening to take over his whole face. Almost immediately my laughter turned to tears as I realised that because I wasn’t feeling very well, this would likely be another day of TV/DVD’s and books for him, with very little reasonable input from Mummy.

Then I got angry because I had plans for today – I finally had the car after Shaun using it for work for weeks and was going to take an hour or so to run some errands. Get out of the house. Get Joshua out of the house. Didn’t look as though that would be happening.

Then I just started feeling incredibly deflated.

It’s been a lot of the same kind of cycle over the last few hours.

Maybe it’s because I’m nearing the end. I’m 36 weeks today and feeling it… I’m uncomfortable, puffy, often off balance, rarely able to move around as I please (waddling like you wouldn’t believe when I can) and dealing with near-constant heartburn. My skin has been terrible for the last three months and seems to have no intention of returning to normal (pregnant glow, anyone? Hello?), and I’m at that stage where even my maternity clothes don’t fit well any more. I love pregnancy. Honestly and truly, I love it. My body, unfortunately, seems to be of a completely different opinion.

Suffice to say, I’m ready to meet this baby.

Except – I’m not. We still have things to do… Clothes need to be washed, we need to buy some tiny disposable nappies in case he can’t fit straight into his cloth ones (which also need to be pre-washed), I wanted to make a load of freezer meals for while I’m in hospital and for the couple of weeks afterwards, we have piles and piles of laundry to get through… We need to book the car in for a service as it’s making a funny whistling noise at higher speeds. We need to put the piles of boxes that have been sitting on the landing for the last few weeks into the loft. The shower curtain needs washing. We need to change our bed sheets. The oven needs cleaning.

And so on, and so on…

It really is just one of those days.