I might win the Most Grumpy, Self-Absorbed Pregnant Woman of the Year Award. I've taken to reclusion in efforts not to infect anybody else with my mood. I promise that I was not like this with the first two pregnancies - I was the obnoxiously happy pregnant woman twice. (And BTW, I can ONLY use the descriptor "obnoxiously happy" because I'm clearly not that woman this time.) No, pregnancy can be fun! Someday soon, I might reclaim the fun. We'll see.
You know what's not fun? Gaining so much weight. (Feeling like there's nothing I can do about it.) WHY do I have to grow another chin as well as a baby? I especially dislike it. For some reason – probably because I see it every time I look in a mirror – it bothers me the most, even though it is probably the least mass added anywhere in terms of pure numbers. Also annoying? Sciatic nerve pain. Mine's not terribly bad as long as I keep moving around and switching shoes and doing exercises and so on. But still, ouch! Overall, I just feel like most of my body is atrophying this time around. It's not pleasant. I can't believe I still have over 3 months to go. UGH.
Yesterday I crawled around on the floor extracting legos from underneath the sofa. And it occurred to me, that as gigantic and big as I think I already am, I must not be that big. At some point in my pregnancy with Mattias, I stopped being able to reach toys hiding under the sofa. So, after I lifted myself off the floor, I informed my (three) boys that I wouldn't be able to rescue sofa-hidden legos from vacuuming death much longer. The vacuum attachment fits much better under the sofa than my arm-attached-to-my-pregnant-body. The boys better figure out how to crawl around on the floor themselves. It seems they DO know how to do this because I stitched three knee patches onto pants in the past week. Or maybe they need to just stop placing the legos under the sofa. How does that happen, anyway? Are legos kicked under there? The boys just stared at me when I snapped. Clearly, I've failed in educating all three of them.
Surely, some of my grumpiness is hormones. But some of it is just fall-out from the last seven months. I have no idea how to blog about these Big (Bad) Things in my life right now. Some stories feel like they are not mine to tell; some would threaten the relative anonymity of this blog. Sometimes I think I'm still busy processing what's happened; I couldn't write about the Big Things even if I wanted to. Sometimes I think that I'm just afraid of how my emotions will come pouring forth, raw and unfiltered and ANGRY. Sometimes I think that I can just focus on the Small (Good) Things – I can post about the Small Things.
There's something really genuine feeling about my favorite blogs. I want to be genuine, too. But it's scary. It's scary to be completely honest about your feelings. And if I take the easier route: well, then, every time I sit down to type about Small (Good) Things, it feels false because my head is really full of Big (Bad) Things.
Most recently, I've been thinking that instead of feeling like I can NEVER post about such-and-such, I'll just think of it as, I'm not ready to post about it YET. Maybe things can just come out slowly over time if I can just be patient with myself. That makes me feel less tongue-tied and false. I think it does, anyway.
Also, it occurs to me that maybe I just need to set a goal for myself. Like posting every other day. I mean, there's value in that, right? I'm pretty sure I don't believe in the theory that every blog post should be a work of finished work of art. That's not why I like blogs at all. For polished work, we can get some books from the library, right? So, here we go: another post in 2 days - shall I talk some more about minivans? Hmmm...