I spent the majority of the day yesterday in bed. It couldn’t entirely be blamed on being a lazy ass, either. I haven’t been feeling right since Sunday. I’ve been exhausted. Eating puts me to sleep immediately and I’m hungry all the time. It’s been a mess.
So, I had a major intestinal freak out in the AM, followed by an hour of painful (!!) contractions coming about every 7 minutes for an hour. I followed the midwife’s instructions – lay down, drink water for an hour and if they’re still close together, call. They went away but I felt light headed the for rest of the day.
After I spoke to my mom and she flipped out, I called. The midwife says, “Lay down, put your feet up, drink more water, eat some protien and call back if you have more contractions, double vision or pass out.” Well, alrighty then.
I’m not feeling much better today. I’m tired and incredibly hungry. Ben’s been quiet, which is scaring the crap out of me. I have an appointment tomorrow, and I sure don’t want to be that crazy lady who calls every ten seconds, but if he doesn’t wake up and shove me in the bladder soon, I may just have to do it.
I have to say, those contractions were eye opening. I have no idea how self-hypnosis is going to help when the time comes but I’m going to hope. Suddenly the needle in my back doesn’t sound so bad.
Not funny, is it? Laugh anyway, or I may sob uncontrollably for a few hours.
I’ve always had a little problem with depression, but it hasn’t been a consistent depression until recently. The hormones make me insane. Some days, I feel great. I wouldn’t say top of the world, but good enough. Any day I don’t feel like ramming my head repeatedly into a wall is a good day. Ante-partum depression, I think it’s called.
Last week I cried because Eric was grumpy, I was grumpy, dad was grumpy, and I was confronted with the super hard task of “how do I manage to do the exact same thing I do every day?” I didn’t just cry. I locked myself in the bathroom, sat on the floor and cried for an hour. Then later, I sat outside in the middle of the night and cried some more.
My days go up and down. I feel like there’s a million and one things to do and I am incapable of doing them. I can’t muster up the energy or motivation to save my life. I feel like I’m completely worthless when it comes to contributing to our home. I feel like Eric always has to take care of me and that he’s got to be sick of it. I’m always feeling insecure, alone and incapable. Most of the time, I find a way to ignore it but some days…
I’ve read that ante-partum depression is a pretty great indicator of possible post-partum depression after the baby comes. Now there’s something to look forward to.
Dearest Momma,
You and I have known one another for quite some time now, so I will not sugar coat things. I have tried my best to gently remind you that I am the boss here. I understand it’s a tough transition to make but this is getting ridiculous.
First, a list of demands:
- I need some freakin’ vegetables in my diet, a kid can’t live on cheese, chocolate and granola bars. Jalapenos are great, really, and yes, momma, they are vegetables but not the ONLY ones that exist.
- Stop trying to smoosh me. You can’t sit like that anymore and you definitely cannot sleep like that anymore.
- I’ll wake up and kick you whenever I darn well please. Just because YOU won’t get any exercise, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have to! Besides, how do I know it’s 4am? Like your uterus is this whole planetary system, containing a sun and moon? Tell you what, I’ll get on your schedule when you implement those upgrades.
- Stop trying to wake me up when I’m napping!! Daddy will feel me when I’m good and ready for him to. Back off!
- Your bladder gets in my way. Empty it more often and I won’t need to kick and shove it out of what precious, tiny space I do have.
Should you choose to not comply with these demands, I will continue my current reign of terror on “that nerve” in your back. You know of which I speak. The one that makes your entire left buttcheek hurt, all the way down to your thigh. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I have upped the ante. What was once simple compression of the nerve has become pinching, riding, pulling, biting and plucking like a guitar string. I have, once, even moved over to the right side, just to show you that what you were feeling was only HALF of what could be done.
Really, momma, this is only for your own good. I have tried my best to gently prod you in this direction, but you have refused to listen, therefore I must result to terrorism. I hate for it to be this way, momma, but you’ve left me no choice.
Not being a jerk does not equal being “politically correct,” it means just not being a jerk.
State your opinion, but understand it is only an opinion. “Red shoes are the BEST for everyone.” Now, with tact: “I believe red shoes are the best.”
Having a strong opinion about something is awesome, pushing it on other people is not. “Everyone should wear red shoes, now.” Tact: “Red shoes are the best for me.”
Respecting someone else’s opinion is not a bad thing. “You’re wrong, blue shoes are for horrible people.” Tact: “I prefer red shoes, but I totally get that so many people love blue shoes.”
Being judgemental is not a mortal sin, but it’s still a pretty crappy thing to do. “Anyone who doesn’t wear red shoes doesn’t deserve to have feet.” Tact: “I’m a raging jerk for judging you because you haven’t chosen the same thing I have. I’m sorry.”
I must be hormonal because I’m getting more and more annoyed with people disregarding others thoughts and opinions. I don’t get why it’s so hard to just be nice.
