That said, the last few months have been a little brutal.
The first time I was pregnant, I could plot and plan and follow through. I could plan a nursery and shop for the perfect baby announcement (perfect after the company redesigned it for me) and freeze meals in anticipation of Rory's arrival and practice my cat/cow stretches and nap whenever I wanted. Such is the life of the childless housewife.
This time is much, much different. I am working 40 hour weeks in an emotionally (and possibly physically, more on that later) toxic wasteland. I have a very active preschooler who has school and dance and show-and-tell and a birthday coming up. So while my first pregnancy was surrounded by peace and comfort and a very clean house, this one is chaos.
And I don't like chaos. I am very affected by my environment, and too much mess makes me very, very stressed. And rather cranky. But I am coping. I am adapting. I am making different choices.
1. I quit that fool job.
Remember how I had reservations the entire time I went through the interview process? My instincts are awesome. My head really likes money. And I made a good chunk, did some good for us. Then they offered me a joke of maternity leave, and never actually got back to me on other options.
Honestly, the place was just bad for me. Listening to people talk about their jobs sucking their souls, how they need to just kill themselves, how they feel dirty after being polite/normal on the phone, and just general nonstop bitching will wear a person down. Even a person who starts her day with her "happy" board and writes down things she is grateful for. Even that person can be drawn into the suck.
On top of that my doc noticed my heart rate and blood pressure spiked in September. When I started the job. They were at the lowest point they'd been since before September the day I turned in my notice.
It was a tough decision for me. I feel like a lot of people see me as a "quitter" or a "spaz" when it comes to employment. As much as I hate the position I'm in, I thought if I worked hard and stuck it out, I could etch out a spot for me that would be better. But the reality is, it would take way too long to get there, and too long in such a negative place is twice as long as too long.
And Ryan put it very well, when he said, "You're right, you do have an opportunity at work. But you also have an opportunity to stay home with your last baby. So you just have to pick which opportunity you want." The kid wins.
2. I've turned a blind eye.
I have dishes all over my kitchen and stacks of (thankgoodness, clean) laundry all over my house. My bathroom needs a scrubbing. I pretend it's not there. Because, frankly, I am too tired and sore to do anything about it, and my husband is already picking up my parenting slack on top of his job and business. That clean laundry? He did it. What have I done? I hung up baby clothes. I brought in the mail (which had baby clothes). I went to bed at 8pm most of the week. He takes Rory to and from school, does most of the work in getting her ready in the morning (I help her pick an outfit and make her breakfast), handles dinner, bath, and bedtime.
It sucks. I hate having a house that looks like this. But the reality is, right now especially, the little time it feels like we have together between jobs and preschool and dance and doctor appointments and midwife visits is going to be pretty chill. It's going to be a very silly family trip to Target for... baby hangers. I'm going to have my feet up and ask Rory about her day at school instead of being a wiggy ball of frantic cleaning stress. The house will get clean. Although possibly not until March. I mean April.
3. I've indulged.
Some women get pregnant and they grow adorable little bellies and nobody can tell they are pregnant from behind! These magical unicorns are very fortunate and share absolutely no genetic material with me.
I do not have a torso, therefore babies go straight out, there simply isn't room for them to go anywhere else. My pelvis starts to separate the moment the stick turns pink. And I pretty much blow up. Currently, my legs look like a giant hams attached to smaller hams. With no ankles. My ass is... excessive. My boobs have gone from porn star to farmyard animal. My face is broken out and moonlike. I am not an attractive pregnant woman.
And today that really sucked. Because I miss being pretty and wearing cute things and having cocktails in teetering heels. THAT I PUT ON MYSELF. There may have been tears about my hugeness. So, I used Target for what it was designed for - buying extra shit not in my budget. I got a hair mask and a face mask. This winter has me completely dried out, so after Ryan reassured me I would not a blimp forever (well, he said I'm not a blimp now, but he didn't want me to cry anymore), I took a super steamy shower, masked up and hydrated everything. Can I shave effectively right now? No. I can't. Do I care? Kind of, yes.
My other goal is to get my poor, dried out feet a pedicure tomorrow. I can't become magically curvy in the right places again, but I can find little ways to feel well taken care of and human.
There's kind of a second part of this blog - how I am managing expectations for post-baby time. Because you KNOW it's going to be magical, sparkly, and perfect! Hmmm. More on that next time, I want to go to sleep.
High on catnip.
Chief's got a touchdown! And then blew it big time.
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