So here I sit, at my dining room table, while a fly buzzes around and I can’t catch it because I’m too fat. Ok, in reality I’m like 37.5 weeks pregnant so mostly trying to catch the fly will just make me breathless for an hour.
The sun is shining and it’s hot as hell out, maybe if only for me. The morning sun shines in my patio doors heating the dining room to near boiling. I want to die. Not really, but you get the picture. There is so much to do and just no ambition or desire to do anything at all. I feel tired and sore and basically useless at this point. Any energy I had when I woke up was quickly gone. Three trips to get the dogs outside, numerous trips up and down the stairs to bathe kids, stop them from fighting over Barbie crowns, give them snacks or find out why it sounds like one of them is dying. (None were, they are just really good at crying and screaming!)
As I was waddling up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time, to take away pant hangers that were causing world war 3, it hit me. That feeling that I really hope other people have had. Or else I’m just a horrible person. Here I am, getting ready to pop out another small human being…and doubting myself. Doubting my ability to deal with labour again, doubting my ability to deal with 4 freaking kids (who will all be under 7 by the way), doubting my sanity in general. WHY AM I DOING THIS AGAIN? I’m never going to be able to sleep, or own nice things, or go on a relaxing vacation. I was rounding the corner, next fall I would have had 2 kids in school and only one at home! I could have gone to school or back to work. All that, shot to hell.
Now, before people go hating, I love my kids and I was more than happy when I found out that I was pregnant again. I had had 3 relatively easy pregnancies with my ex (and he wasn’t even around to enjoy them) and expected to be able to give my fiancé that same kind of experience. He deserved it, he’s a wonderful father to my kids and a great guy in general. Well he did not get that. He got me being sick, he got me with horrible pregnancy skin, showing earlier, gaining extra weight, being more tired, being sore earlier and wishing it was all over. Unable to keep up with housework, sometimes not able to even cook supper so he didn’t have to do it when he got home from work. I feel guilty for it, but also anger. Anger, not at him, but at the fact that someone who deserved and appreciated none of it got the better years of my life, stole the better version of me, and left me an empty shell. I feel like my fiancé is cheated out of the me he knew years and years ago. Obviously something I have to deal with and work on that I never thought I’d have to.