It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I can’t sleep. My mouth is dry. My stomach feels iffy. And I’m awake.
But I didn’t write about 8w6d yet so here goes.
I started pregnancy yoga. Boy, am I out of shape. We moved so slowly, but I was still panting. Now, my neck is really sore. Guess my yoga practice wasn’t exactly relaxed in the neck and shoulders.
We have the same yoga instructor as when I pregnant the first time around. That means I expect her to talk about my baby choosing its gender next week.
I came home from yoga, made pancakes, choked two down and then took a nap.
After my nap I played with my son for a little while and then put him down for a nap. I headed off to Costco and the grocery store. By the time I got home, I felt like I wasn’t going to make it. I was so beat.
It’s really discouraging to feel like something like grocery shopping is beyond my capabilities. Getting my son into his pajamas and ready for bed feels like I’m completing a hurculean task.
When I’m tired like that, which is basically at the end of every day, the desperation returns. Only not about food. I’m desperate to be in bed. To not have to do anything else. I beg my son to not take a single second longer than necessary to be put to bed. My voice gets high-pitched and, well, desperate.
Okay, the high-pitched thing only has happened once. On 8w5d. I heard the fear and non-coping in my voice and was surprised. Somehow, no doubt a gift from God, I was able to calm down and actually smile at my son’s reactions to his favorite part of Fox in Socks.
Tangent: on the title page of that book, he says, “Fox in Socks. By German Candies.” I have no idea.
Tonight was a Halloween party at the Boyd home. Lots of fun people. Lots of good food. Lots of temptation to tell someone I’m pregnant.
But I didn’t tell anyone. Instead I sat next to Ruth and chatted about how we both were so tired. Her reasons had to do with being super busy. My reasons had to do with being pregnant, but I played it off like being tired was just the in thing to be.
It’s my turn to make Sunday dinner. I have been secretly stressed that the simple act of making dinner is going to be more than I can tackle.
I wonder if that’s why I’m not sleeping.