So let me set the scene of my life the past few months. On any typical day I work between six and eight and a half hours. In the mornings I wake up using my FitBit (if there is anyone out there still waking up to the angry blaring of an alarm, I strongly suggest a change). I trudge through my closet into our en-suite bathroom where I slowly start to try and make myself look more like a person and less like a hair ball that crawled out from under a rock.
Still half asleep, I shrug at what I’ve managed to accomplish as far as washing my face and putting concealer on the dark spots under my eyes and raking my fingers through my hair before I brush my teeth and head back into the closet to wiggle into WHATEVER IS FITTING ME at this stage of my pregnancy. Most days it’s yoga Capri pants and a t-shirt as I have to be mobile enough to keep up with five-year olds.
Then it’s on to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before I’m out the door.
My workday moves oddly both slowly and quickly as I count down the moments until 6:30 when I can leave and race home. (Haha, just kidding. I don’t race anymore. It’s a slow walk at best.)
Hopefully I am home by 7:00, a walk that pre-pregnancy took me ten minutes but now takes me an eternity from work to my apartment. I take my main monster out for a quick walk so he can do his business.
Now, once we come back into the apartment, I have Toblerone’s halter and my pants off somehow at the same time, throw my pants over the back of my chair in the living room and immediately go to the fridge. Lately I have been good. I’ll make myself something like a bacon and egg sandwich with some milk or a grilled cheese and tomato soup before I head to the couch to eat it.
Once the food is gone, I lay on the couch in the exact same spot I always do and do not move for hours. Every adjustment I make is with a dramatic groan as I binge-watch things in Netflix, or re-watch things so I don’t have to pay attention.
Half of the time I don’t even bother getting off the couch to make dinner for my poor husband who works long hours at a physically demanding job and usually doesn’t come home until around 10:30-11:00pm.
Last night as I laid there in my couch groove, I had a memory of this thing called motivation. I vaguely recall it surging through my body, helping me power single-handedly through tasks. I had a long-standing Platinum Membership Card with motivation at one point in my life.
Yet, when I got pregnant, that card got revoked. Or maybe it expired and I never bothered to renew it… you know, without the motivation and all that Jazz.
If I took photos of my apartment right now, some of you would gasp! Hell, there are days when I feel a gasp coming on but can’t be bothered. I’m too tired for gasping!
It’s a depressing realization. Comparing the person you were, the tasks you accomplished every day, the routines and social encounters you kept up before to the lazy solitude you live in now.
I think what makes is most depressing is feeling like you honestly don’t even have the energy to do something about it. All you can do is cuddle a little lower in your couch canyon, call your dog over to cuddle and wrap your knit blanket around yourself as you wallow in it all.
At 28 weeks, I don’t think there is a single moment in the day when I am not exhausted. Add in the fact that my calves cramp every hour and a half when I sleep causing me to jolt away and massage them for five minutes, means I am getting even less sleep than the insomniac I was before I got pregnant. I can count the friends I keep in contact with on one hand… using only two fingers.
Pregnancy has become this overbearing beast that has taken over my whole life and I keep waiting for the motivation to do something about it.
In my head it all seems very simple. I have a plan. I need to start doing yoga to broaden my social activity and hopefully get me to a point where I am feeling good again. I need to throw away all the Knick-knacks that are cluttering up my apartment and make the space more functional for when a baby comes along. I need to start folding my clothes instead of piling them onto the mountain of clothes I keep on the bed in my spare room… a room where I was supposed to make a space for the baby but haven’t yet. I need to make a space for the baby.
All the things I need to do are there, but without that membership card to motivation, I can pretty much promise you they aren’t going to get done.
The fatigue and many aches and pains that go along with pregnancy make it hard to do anything else but just exist through the day. I wish there had been somewhere that would have told me that. All the articles I had read about pregnancy said it was okay to slow down and take a nap if you needed one, but they didn’t tell me slow would be my only setting and I would often wake from a nap feeling like I needed another nap.
If I read all of this somewhere would it have put a pause on my plans to have a baby?
What it would have done was given me a more realistic idea of what would happen to me during this pregnancy and maybe kept me from sobbing on the couch and wiping my nose on my dog’s ears while watching episode after episode of Queer Eye (Oh my god, I love it!).
In all the movies and shows I watched with pregnant women, it was one bad day and they seemed to bounce back. Just random emotional outbursts. It wasn’t this constant wave.
So what am I going to do about it?
I am going to buck up! I am going to grit my teeth and power through! I am going to do all the things I know need to be done and hopefully get my groove back… next week maybe.
Today I am going to power through my day and go back to that spot on the couch.