This Killing Time....

Is Killing Me....

(Drinking myself blind.....) Well, no, not really.  Not really into the whole getting smashed thing, even when not growing babies, but the killing time part I TOTALLY get.

Thinking back, this isn't as bad as when I was pregnant with Kyle and stuck in an apartment with no friends, nothing to clean and no hobbies or when Jamie was out to sea for three month stretches and every single day felt like a week, but still....

This sucks.

This is my day.  Wake up.  Try to get out of bed without crying.  I snap, crackle and pop, keep my legs very tightly together and swing them over the side, gently touching my feet to the floor, hoping that TODAY I won't get that sharp shooting pain that feels like I'm the perfect candidate for a lawsuit against Tampax and their faulty "hide your ninja sword in a feminine product" line of products I know they'll market when the world goes all apocalyptic.  (TMI?  Maybe, but you laughed...admit it). I'm sorely (ha, pun intended) pretty much every morning as I rise to my feet, wondering how I have more than one child, then remembering this never happened with the first few.

I waddle to the facilities and wish I had slept just a little longer, but that doesn't happen these days.  It appears my body thinks 6 am is "sleeping in," but honestly once I'm a bit more awake, I'm grateful for the built in quiet.  I hobble my to rocking chair and pick up some knitting and think.  This quiet time is where I plan my day, my week, the stuff I need to do and create a mental (or physical) to do list that mostly doable.  I used to make my to do list at night, but right now, at bedtime, I'm pretty convinced I will never be able to move again, so putting anything on a list seems impossible.  There is fresh hope in the morning that is depleted by the end of the day.

Usually I am milking a goat by 8 am, but today the girls did it, which was nice.  At about 7, I gather what I need from upstairs....school books, any yarn crap not downstairs, some candy (for potty bribes.  We've settled on Dum Dum lollipops.  They are small and do minimal sugar damage...) and anything else I think I'll need and put everything near my little nest on the couch.

And I sit.

For stretches.  And I knit.  And I homeschool and I color, talk, drink coffee, watch videos, change diapers, and read books.  And I get up.  I walk around, I switch laundry, I check lists, and make sure dinner stuff is out and find small 15 minute cleaning tasks I can do, that ONLY I can do and then start the process all over again.

And time tick tocks away.  I talk to Jamie when he can talk and make lists and mentally prepare for all the things coming up.  I am so thankful for the big living room where the littles can happily play beside me and I'm thankful for my older children who can bring things, cook easy food and provide me some pretty good distraction through meaningful conversation.

It takes about two days of "moderation" for me to say "screw moderation" and tackle a project that takes a lot out of me, like cleaning the yard or scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees (okay, not really, more like on my arse, scooting around like a pre-crawling baby, with bowl, sponge and towel)  This morphs into me being up the rest of the day and the next, I pay the price, but even though it HURTS, I am not INJURED, so I just try to keep that in mind.

What does it feel like?  Well...it feels like....you've fallen from a two story building, directly onto a saw horse, with your legs open, your crotch getting the entire impact.  It's the weirdest thing to hurt in a place where you are usually pretty unaware of feeling anything.  Now, when Mr. Baby moves, especially his head, it's like....the Ninja Sword Tampon is doing the Macarena in your nether regions.  On some levels, I want to cry...on others I am just....intrigued by the weirdness of it all.  My back is starting to do that end of pregnancy thing where it starts to spasm at my tailbone and then goes all the way up to my midback and dear Lord, that hurts.  I lay down, I rock, I take baths and do pretty much whatever I can to get as comfortable as possible...but it's pretty much impossible....and I sleep with an obscene amount of pillows tucked all around me.  (I think Jamie is getting jealous of my intimate relationship with my fluffy nighttime companions.)  I swear this is the worst time yet, but Jamie reminds me...it's really not.  I just can't believe I actually felt this before and didn't jump off the roof or perform some sort of sterilization surgery on myself...or something.....Okay, a bit dramatic, but damn.....I did this before?  Really?  Wow.  I am in awe of myself... ;)

But enough of the gloom and doom.  You get it.  This sucks for me.   It's bad.  I don't say that much, or didn't last time, but this time around I'm more like "Well, might as well not pretend..." and I think that comes a little more with age and not giving a crap what people think...because let me tell you what they think "If it's really THAT BAD, why on earth would you do this...why get pregnant KNOWING ....it will be like this at the end."

Good question.  Why do people do ANYTHING?  Why do people kick their own tushes training for marathons?  For mountain climbing?  To get through medical school or perform a recital?  Why does anyone burn the candle at both ends to meet an important deadline or say no to sleep to get a huge task done?  Why do people fight deadly diseases knowing the cure will make them sicker than the disease in the short term?  Because, as Jamie taught me (this lovely phrase....LOVE IT!!)  "The juice is worth the squeeze..."

The end result of the suck is worth the endurance to get through it.  The end result of this particular suck is a human being.  I have approximately six weeks worth of increasingly bad suck to produce another living human.  That' okay with me.  Shoot, you know how many people go through months upon months of sheer agony to get a baby, whether that's through adoption or medical procedures to assist them?  Six weeks is nothing compared to all that (even though it technically does feel like six years....)

So right now we're tick tocking away.  Four weeks (I am thinking closer to three. I've done this a few times and I am pretty sure....I'm a week ahead of where "they" think I am)  Killing time.  Killing yarn (and my next blog post will highlight that. Y'all will think I'm nuts when I show what I finished last week.  I think I set some sort of weird yarn record...)

Besides this, do you know how good it feels when this suck goes away? It's like this lottery winning scenario.  I am handed the sweetest little creature...I can roll over in bed again...and my girly bits don't feel like they've been assaulted and I get that all in ONE DAY.  It's like magic.  It's what I'm looking forward to....what seems like a pipe dream now as I hobble around the house and glare at the chair that Rtwo inches out of place, making my life miserable and picturing myself as a T-rex trying to wipe his own butt when I try to do anything else (Me and switching laundry....there could be a SNL skit on this one simple domestic act.  Did you know it's almost impossible to get all the laundry out of the washer when you're 76 months pregnant???)

For now, I'll play with yarn, watch live streams that teach me stuff and hand my children the digital camera to prove they've done their stuff....

And wait for another day ;)