I guess it only takes one post on my blog to get the ball rolling again. (Two days in a row? Am I a superhero?)
Or it’s that I’m up too early because my daughter woke at 5:30 and wouldn’t stop coughing. Not an accidentally-swallowed-a-whole-shrimp kind of cough, but a post-nasal drippy kind of cough that was not going away and was not going to let anyone sleep, either.
Ope, there she goes again.
I’ll tell you, this mothering thing is hard. Actually, life is hard. Everything is hard. I want to be singing the Lego movie’s “Everything Is Awesome” theme song, just so I can believe it for a minute.
After looking at me yesterday, a woman told me that she couldn’t believe I had a month to go in my pregnancy. She though I looked like it was only a couple of weeks.
I know. And thank you. I look like a house. Like my belly is leading me around, and not the other way around. This baby seems to be rolling into a ball most days, as though preparing to shoot out of a canon. Either that, or she wants to see how far she can put her elbow or knee or foot (whatever it is, it’s sharp) into my internal organs. Has anyone had a baby poke through the amniotic sac? Because this baby is trying to. She wants out. Or she’s just laughing at me.
Seriously, people, I don’t know how I’m going to do this three kid thing. Three kids seems like a good idea when you’ve done a ton of yoga and everyone in your house is healthy. But when they enter the germ factory of summer camp and immediately get a cold? When they wake up at 3 in the morning complaining of an ear ache? When they cough in the other kid’s face while watching the most annoying show in the world, “Horseland”?
That’s when I think I must be crazy to have chosen this life. I don’t know why I forget that kids get sick all the time. And spit up and stuff. And try to wipe their poop without washing their hands.
Two weeks ago, when my family and I were on vacation at the Jersey shore, in the pool, there was a family there made up of five kids. Shockingly, the mother looked calm, and together, and still had vitality running through her. The kids were really good. The dad seemed happy to sip his Miller Lite and keep his feet in the hot tub.
In my college days and in my early 20s, I was impressed with women who became doctors and lawyers and CEO’s and prolific writers and widely published, admired professors.
Now? I want to bow down at the feet of a goddess mother who has five children and maintains her sanity. Because that is certainly more than I could do.
So anyway, this post is…a hormonal rant brought on by lack of sleep? (Because the cruelty is, even though I don’t yet have a newborn waking me up at night, I can’t friggin’ sleep.) A confession that I want to be perfect, energetic, bursting with joy and love…and I’m not? (Did I mention I’m tired?) That my face is getting that haggard look, where my nose spreads apart and my eyes look dull? (Because that’s what people mean when they say, “I can tell you’re having a girl.”)
Regardless, it’s Tuesday, which is better than Monday. And my refrigerator is stocked with Greek yogurt, and my husband got me a blender, so I can make as many strawberry smoothies as I want. And tomorrow, before a hot date touring the Labor & Delivery wing of the hospital, my husband and I are going to get dinner at a Mexican restaurant, and I’m going to have a few sips of a margarita with salt on the rim.
And if I get a nap today, I’ll remember I have amazing friends, and family, and wonderful people in my life, and even though everything is hard and stressful right now (in more ways than I can really share on this blog), it’s all going to work out. It always does.
Or it doesn’t. But that means I’ll have more to write about.
Image: “Vintage Postcard Little Girl Sleeping” by Cheryl Hicks via Flickr.