The last couple of days have been an adventure in hormones like nothing I've experienced so far. After a productive and fun week, I inexplicably spent Friday bouncing between frustration, boredom, and an overwhelming urge to cry my eyes out.
On top of the emotional drama, I had a couple of days of extreme physical discomfort and I felt like no matter how I sat or where I lay down, there were feet wedged in my ribcage, I couldn't breathe, I had to pee, and I was really just tired of being pregnant.
Saturday morning I thought I was good, but by noon I found myself flopped hopelessly on the bed in tears after having to rip out a seam one too many times for my liking and trying and failing to figure out what was wrong with the borrowed and unfamiliar sewing machine I'm using.
My phone rang in the middle of that pathetic little scene and it was Gus, calling from the grocery store to figure out if I wanted oat bran or wheat bran for my muffin recipe. I didn't want to (and didn't know if I could) explain what I was so tweaked about, so I pulled myself together and got in the shower to regroup and wash away my temporary insanity. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing. Half an hour later I was curled up on the bed again, tears running down my cheeks and a pressing feeling of frustration, irritation, and sadness was just weighing me down.
Hubby was understandably worried, but once he determined that I wasn't experiencing an imminate sensation of "doom and gloom" (which we were warned could indicate that something was really wrong with the baby), he was sweet and considerate of my emotional train-wreckage.
Intellectually, I understand that the hormonal fluctuations I'm experiencing are going to lead to days like this, but I don't want to get overwhelmed by the little things and miss out on this time. I feel better after getting things off of my giant, stretch-mark laden chest and allowing myself time to refocus.
I know that part of my upset stems from the fact that I still don't know what I'm going to do with myself and my life once Baby comes. I know that I'll be a mom, but is that all that I'll be? For at least the time being, I think so. I love that, but it's also terrifying in a way. I've worked for years to try to establish myself as some kind of a productive member of society, and the last few months have seen me reduced to incubator. I'm so grateful for this time and I wouldn't want to be working, but I feel somehow less-than at the same time. Like I'm not earning my keep.
The stupid sewing machine drama was made more painful because the only thing I am doing right now is trying to use my limited talents to craft and sell things in my etsy shop. My one contribution is being thwarted by a crappy piece of machinery that I can't diagnose and repair. Helpless and useless is not comforting, so I just had to walk away for a while. I'll go back with a fresh perspective and I'm sure things will be easier.
And instead of feeling like Junior is being a pest and that his jabs and rolls are occuring just to make me feel uncomfortable, I'm trying to focus on the fact that he's learning and preparing for life outside of me and that I'm the only one who gets the honor of being with him right now. Plus, once he's outside we're just going to have a whole new set of problems on our hands, so I know it's best not to rush things!