I can see it.
A light in the distance.
At this point, however, I can't tell if it's the light at the end of the tunnel or the angels calling me home.
They look similar when your eyelids are swollen because you have Pregnancy Puffyfaceitis.
I am SO done.
SO.
So much SO that I just want to keep saying SO.
SO.
SO.
So very SO SO.
The doctor has now instructed modified bed rest because of spiking blood pressures and the worrisome crazed look in my eyes.
I'm wondering if she knows that my version of modifying it will be - uh -
to not do it.
I'd like to know how on EARTH one is supposed to get bed rest when they have multiple children already.
Making the mini-me's snacks ALONE is a full time job that requires agility and stamina and training in hurdle jumping.
And also, how am I supposed to do it when the doctor is simultaneously writing out slips for multiple appointments in a week?
Twice weekly non-stress tests,
once weekly office visits,
once weekly Sweet Success Appointments,
thrice weekly mini-strokes.
They comment on my blood pressure being high when I'm in the office with concern as if they don't SEE the two little girls and a daycare baby climbing all over each other crying that they need to pee or that so and so is looking at them funny. One eating crayons. One eating boogers.
Of course it's high.
Your blood pressure would be high, too, if you had to wait for Tessa to zip her boots "all by herself" as you tried to get here on time.
That alone takes the patience of Job.
It would be sure to spike if you, too, were wondering why the entire back of the baby's pants were mysteriously wet as the two older ones helped each other scoot a chair up against the wall so that they could reach the sharps container for a "fun game" they just thought of.
The blood pressure cuff wouldn't even REGISTER my pressure the first time around today.
I'm surprised it didn't self destruct.
It just re-inflated to over 220 to try again.
It squeezed so hard I think I would have just preferred labor and I ended up ripping it off of my own arm and glaring at the 13 year old, 60 pound nurse who asked me if I'd like to take it later when I'd
"had a chance to rest."
Rest?
Does not compute.
Does not compute.
This girl had never even had a cheeseburger, let alone a truly stressful day.
Even my RESTFUL days are more hectic than her busiest day, I'd bet.
She probably needs some down time and a facial after Starbucks makes her latte wrong,
and I wouldn't be surprised if I picked a woman like her out of my mangled loosening hair at the end of some of MY days.
And the house is slowly turning into a disaster.
My version of cleaning has turned into kicking items around with my swollen sausage feet into various piles around the room.
Each stair has something on it I'd rather not carry upstairs.
The bed hasn't been made in 3 weeks just so I can have the delusion that I could just crawl back in at any moment.
I look at it longingly every time I lumber by. On my way to the bathroom.
Not that it would be that restful even in bed.
I can't lay on my left side because I feel like I'll pass out from compressing a major artery.
I can't lay on my right side because my entire right arm then falls asleep and hurts and makes me want to cry or cut it off.
I can't lay on my back because the weight of the baby makes me feel like I can't breathe.
I have resorted to propping myself completely sitting straight up on approximately 32 pillows in order to fall asleep.
I have a system.
If even one pillow is off it's like The Giant Princess and the Pea.
Before I know it, I've lost 2.5 hours to readjusting.
And then JUST when it's perfect.....
I have to pee.
Again.
And just to rub it in and make it extra fun, Justin has started snoring.
A LOT.
It's like in the sounds he makes I can actually HEAR him saying,
"Look at me. I'm sleeping SO soundly you couldn't wake me if you tried. And you know who ELSE can't wake me? Chloe, when she comes in three times a night saying she's had a bad dream. So, how about you just get on that?
Since you're up anyway."
At least that's what I imagine he's saying as I sit there in bed glaring at his silhouette that is lit up to blinding levels from his stupid blue light alarm clock that could lead ships into harbor. That alarm clock is a blog in itself.
I sometimes think I could spare at least ONE pillow for smothering.
I'm actually to the point of looking FORWARD to waking up 3 times a night for feedings, because that'll be, like, three times LESS than now.
Sounds restful.
Two nights ago Justin asked me for a massage.
I know he didn't mean anything horrible by it.
He deserves love, too. Most days.
But my real thought was that you wouldn't ask someone with Leprosy if they'd please just rub a smidge of lotion on your heels because they were a little cracked, would you?
No.
You wouldn't.
And my poor family.
Every meal has involved a can opener lately.
I'm just in no mood to saute or combine or toss gently.
I'm in a SMEAR mood, at best.
Thankfully, the girls would just as soon have a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios as they would Shepherd's Pie, so I'm good.
I'm just TIRED.
I'm tired of having to stay up late so I can eat a snack I'm not even hungry for just so that my blood sugar is good in the morning.
I'm tired of peeing
ALL
THE
TIME.
I'm tired of flat shoes.
I'm tired of the 20 minute yoga session it takes just to stand up from being seated on the floor.
I'm tired of the same pair of jeans every day.
I'm tired of the looks I get when I'm out in public pregnant with my own kids AND the daycare kids in a cart.
I'm tired of getting asked if I'm "about to pop."
And on that subject, let me just say -
POPPING couldn't be further from the reality of what happens.
Popping implies a short, sudden burst that is over in seconds, resulting in total deflation.
The reality is hours of excruciating labor, several moments of wishing for death, the possibility of having your lower region cut with scissors or a knife, and months, if not YEARS to "deflate."
I'll show YOU popping.
In your most likely male mouth.
Don't think I won't.
I'm mean these days, too.
Some days are like a scene out of an exorcism movie.
Head rotating. Weird red steam. Levitation if deemed necessary.
I keep having out of body experiences and then I turn around and the girls are looking at me like this:
I mean....
That can't be good, right?
I guess it's good that God sort of makes you forget this part when you are trying for another baby or when you first get pregnant and are still in the la la stage. Otherwise, there would be no more babies and the world would end.
Part of the problem is that I'm not 25 anymore, too.
I've actually said the words, "I'm too old for this."
Scary thought.
I just keep praying that at least the baby will be a good sleeper like Tessa was.
That kid was an awesome baby. We never even knew she was there.
There were several times we almost forgot her places because she was so quiet and, well, ASLEEP.
Chloe, on the other hand practically required a team of specialists around the clock to keep her happy.
Still does, actually.
She was the baby that required 2am car rides to the drug store to get her to fall asleep.
I have never watched so many middle of the night infomercials as I did when she was an infant.
So now, I'm left wondering what this one will be like.
It's like Baby Russian Roulette.
"Please God, Please God, Let this be the chamber with the calm one."
I just have to tell myself it's only 2.5 more weeks.
I can make it, right?
Maybe.
Because then Justin's off for 7 weeks.
SEVEN.
Seven long and OCD project filled weeks.
Which means 5 weeks of wondering WHEN he is going back to work.
I may need back-up, here, people.
I have a feeling his Paternity Leave will be more like
Paternity, LEAVE.
