The boys have a bug and I’m not sure if I do or not, or if I’m simply exhausted from flying. I noticed when I returned from Jefferson, Texas in January that I was really tired for about a week, and so I’m thinking I’m just tired from flying pregnant, but its hard to say. I do know that the hour I spent sleeping from 5-6 pm tonight was wonderful and I wouldn’t have climbed from bed if I hadn’t needed to feed boys and be a reasonably attentive mom.
Being a mom is strange. There are ups and downs and hopes and disappointments and yet even when I’m the maddest, or most frustrated, I still feel the need and desire to take care of the boys, to make sure they’re fed and comfortable. To make sure they know they’re loved.
The truth is, I don’t need a lot if they’re around.
And now the baby…
He’ll be here in just months. Sixty-six days to be precise. And I still have a book to write. And a torn apart house with no room ready for him. I know babies are small and can sleep anywhere but the nesting part of me me wants a proper nursery with assembled crib and new clean sheets and freshly scrubbed dresser that’s stocked with newborn diapers. I have to get motivated. Have to focus. Can’t stare out the window in dreamy, sleepy state of being. But it’s hard to concentrate. He moves a lot and I’m getting those Braxton-Hicks contractions and the moment its time to work I just want one more nap.
I vow to write tomorrow. As soon as I return from my OB appointment I’ll write, even if its just for an hour. But writing will help, it’ll ease my anxiety that I’m not getting enough done. Because let’s face it. I can’t build the new bathroom or bedroom. Can’t hurry the carpenters or plumbers or electrician. But I can write a book. That’s what I do. That’s who I am.
Or so I tell myself as I put my head down on my desk for just a quick little break…