the tired monster ate my... self

My husband assures me that I felt the same way during my last pregnancy. And by “same way” I mean dog-tired, highly emotional, and basically feeling like a train wreck on thin ice.

I don’t remember it that way at all.

I remember dreaming about tiny fingers and toes, diligently looking through baby name books, and making lists of things I wanted to stock the nursery with.

This time around is different though. This time around, I have tiny little fingers grabbing at me non-stop, tiny little toes running in circles around me, and no motivation or energy to look through lists of names I already know I don’t like.

And of course the nursery is already fully stocked.

But feeling like a walking zombie who—at any given moment—is ready to turn into a werewolf and do some serious damage to anyone in my path? That I don’t remember at all.

Apparently I just don’t have a great memory. (And I don’t have a blog to go back and refer to since I didn’t start blogging until Levi was close to four months old.)

My memory fails me.

I can’t remember feeling like if I couldn’t get a nap somewhere in the day I just might keel over and die. (I’m not trying to be dramatic here… I seriously feel that way often at the moment.) I don’t remember feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion to the point of tears every other day. And I certainly don’t remember wanting to a) bite someone’s head off on a regular basis or b) burst into deep sobs of frustration at any given moment in time.

when you're this tired... even airport floors look appealing

So this is a post in which I am whining. It’s so unbecoming isn’t it? I know. (I tell my one-year-old that all the time, though he doesn’t completely understand how unbecoming just yet. And—no doubt—I’m giving him a shining example.)

I feel like I’m failing, like I’m not being my “best self”. No one is getting my best – not my husband, not Levi, not friends, not my work, not God, and not even myself. Everyone’s getting the scraps that are left-over from the savage Tired Monster that’s sucking away all my physical and emotional energy.

The tank is low folks, and the fuel light is most definitely on.

“This will pass,” my husband reassures me, and of course I know he’s right.

But in the meantime I’m having a hard time keeping it all together.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a great life. I have support. I have an amazing I’ll-cook-dinner-AND-do-the-dishes sort of husband. I have plenty of moments of laughter and amusement during my day as I watch my sweet toddler grow and discover and work his magic on me.

I’m just kind-of wanting to fast-forward another four weeks or so to that golden second trimester. (Yes, I think most of my pregnancy memories are from the glorious middle.)

And yet I don’t want to be that lady either. You know, that lady who whines and complains and basks in self-pity. I don’t want to be that lady that thinks that because I’m pregnant the world should suddenly start revolving around me. And most of all I don’t want to be that lady who takes for granted the miracle of carrying and growing babies in the first place.

So, admitting that I’d give almost anything to just pack it all in and have a good, long, uninterrupted nap… I’m gonna buck up. I’m gonna be a grown-up. I’m gonna tidy up the house and change over the laundry and think about what to make for dinner.

I’m gonna give thanks for the nice home I sit in, the over-the-top gorgeous and hilarious and healthy kid that calls me “mama”, and the dream boat I get to curl up with every night.

I’m gonna look on the bright side, remember how privileged I am to get to carry a baby in the first place, and thank God that he trusts me enough to give me a second Gift in the form of a child.

I’m gonna dream about my little raspberry and love him or her without reservation from the very depths of my heart.

For every moment of exhaustion and every over-exaggerated emotion I will try to remind myself that these are very, very, very small sacrifices that many women would gladly accept in a heartbeat if it meant growing and birthing a child of her own.

And hopefully I can keep my fangs under wraps for just a few more weeks… until this short little phase passes.

Dear friends, do you remember feeling like this during your first trimester? I know it’s normal… yet I still struggle to feel normal! How did you cope during those first few months when you feel so miserable and don't even have a massive belly to show for it all?

yawn,

adriel booker | the mommyhood memos | 2011 
do not reproduce without written permission