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Yesterday marked 24 weeks in my
pregnancy. Twenty-four (okay, more like 20) of some of the most
difficult weeks I have ever endured, both due to the pregnancy and
other things going on in my life. I can see the light at the end of
this pregnancy tunnel, and yet…
I’m feeling quite depressed.
I
have no reason to be, mind you. My babies are healthy, my kids are well
taken care of, my husband is amazing, and my friends and family have
been wonderfully helpful and supportive.
Still, I’m feeling down.
Part
of it is because, at 24 weeks, I feel and look more like I’m 8 months
pregnant. I’m not sleeping well, getting up at all hours of the night
to pee, then having a difficult time finding a comfortable position to
sleep in. To give you a visual, my belly is so large, I have an
inch-and-a-half until I can’t fit behind the steering wheel of my car.
My belly is so ginormous, when I tried to measure around it the other
night, my tape measure ran out of numbers. All I know is that I am at
least a few inches bigger than 40″.
This is all great for the
babies! At my appointment today, the doctor measured the twins’ bellies
and they are both two weeks ahead of their actual age. Good little
fatties.
I would do anything to keep these babies healthy and
growing. It just, I dunno, a little depressing when I want to clean and
organize, and I can’t. It’s sad when my kids want to run around and
have me throw them in the air, and I can’t. It bums me out when I see
all these things I want to be doing, but I know I shouldn’t.
This
past weekend, my doctor had me on modified bed rest due to some pretty
painful contractions I was experiencing last week. It was a real wake
up call that the twins will be here before we know it. That wake up
call has me looking around at my house, wanting to get everything
ready. But, I’m so limited in what I can do. I see clutter everywhere
that is stressing me out. I see three bedroom floors that we have to
either re-carpet or install laminate flooring in before the twins
arrive.
(This is all thanks, in large part, to a sippy cup that
spilled and spoiled on Bug and Bean’s carpet. We had to rip it up, it
was so bad, and it had leaked all the way down to the floorboard. UGH.)
I
suppose it’s just that there is so much to do, and I don’t know how
much time we have left to do it. And, I know that much of it, I can’t
help with. Though I’m not on modified bed rest any longer, I have been
instructed to take it easy and dedicate myself to “slug-like” laziness whenever possible. I can do that, no problem. I actually enjoy a lazy day or two every now and then. It merely seems different, and less enjoyable, when it’s less my choice and more out of necessity.
I haven’t written anything in a while because I’m completely uninspired. Plus, anything I write right now is bound to be lame and boring anyway (looking at the inner walls of your house all day long will do that to ya). I need to get sucked into a book or find a good TV series to watch from beginning to end… something.
Soon, this will all come to an end. Before I know it, I will find myself toting two newborn boys around, my hair greasy from not showering for days on end, and spit up soaking my shoulders. Bean will be following me, probably attached to my leg, screaming bloody murder because she wants to be picked up, and Bug will be nearby whining about something or other. It will be in that moment that I’ll wonder why I was ever down about being bored and lazy.
(And, I don’t need to be reminded of this fact. I know. Believe me. I know.)
Man, I need to get out of this funk.
Photo Credit: Glenda Otero
Source: sxc.hu
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