About a week ago, a flip definitely switched for me. Physically, I’m suddenly super uncomfortable. Feeling like a full-blown beached whale. If whales experience frequent heartburn and Braxton Hicks contractions, that is. I’ve got the 8-9 month waddle down pat. And sleeping comfortably? What is this “sleep” concept? My pregnancy insomnia is back in full force. Although none of that is pleasant, it is all normal and to be expected. This isn’t my first rodeo. My bigger issues are emotional. I’ve cracked. Reached a limit. This was also expected. I knew this late-term stretch would be the most challenging of the pregnancy, with vivid flashbacks and rampant anxiety. It’s every bit as brutal as I feared it would be. I’m even less patient than normal. (That has to be some sort of record.) Every bad story I hear, whether personal or in the news, completely sets me into a tailspin of despair. I’ve become an ostrich, sticking my head in the sand to avoid anything that is in any way upsetting. I’m desperate to surround myself with warm and fuzzy, happy, harmless distractions. So, The Today Show, local news, Facebook and the like have all become enemies numbers 1, 2, 3 etc. If it’s not a feel-good Gilmore Girls rerun, retail therapy, a pastry splurge, or hanging out with my innocent toddler, I’m not interested. (Now that I’ve written that out…it doesn’t seem all that abnormal. But you get the gist.) See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
.jpg)
The gold star in the midst of this gratuitous and whiney pregnancy rant? Just a few more weeks to go.
Yep, friends. That’s the best I can do in the way of optimism this morning!