Thursday, August 8, 2013

I should have been 40 weeks pregnnant. I should be anxiously awaiting labor. I should be round and full of baby. I should be taking it easy, preparing for the huge undertaking of birth and parenthood. I should be filled with joy. I would have changed my life to accommodate that baby. I would have got a job I hated in order to put back money to have time off with that baby. I would have sucked in my complaints and let only gratitude fill my voice. I would have sacrificed everything I have to have been able to welcome that baby into our lives. Instead, I can't sleep (and not because I'm waking a million times a night to pee.) I spend the night tossing and turning, woken by dreams that I've had my baby but lost her, either at the mall in the apocalypse or a hotel during an evacuation and no one will help me find her. It has rained heavily lately and on our tin roof it gets so loud that I'm woken by that a lot too and then can't go back to sleep. And of course the lack of sleep feeds the feeling of being emotionally fragile and everything feels that much more stressful, that much more intense and so much harder to manage. I feel like I'm teetering on a cliff side and just the slightest breeze is going to come and initiate a freefall unlike anything I've experienced before. I feel like I've reached out to a few people but they don't know what to say. They tell me I take on too much and just need to slow down, sleep more, and it will all feel easier tomorrow. And maybe that is partially true but its not possible at the moment when I'm working 3 jobs and still barely making ends meet while Matt still searches tirelessly for his own employment. I'm just run down and feeling afraid of what may come when I do find time to pause.

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