pregnancy, thoughts

I Can’t Do This: New Pregnancy, New Limitations

So last night, let’s talk about last night. Last night my worry meter broke in two. I didn’t think it was possible, but it did. My worrying, as can be clearly seen in this blog, is a very huge part of who I am, for better or worse and last night… whew, it was off the charts and I finally was done with it.

As you know, if you read this blog, I work cleaning a daycare/preschool every night once Andy gets home. He comes home, I scarf down dinner and head out the door. I work for about 4.5 hours and get home around 11:30 or so. Henry gets up at around 6:00 or 6:30 and we start our day. This has been our schedule for a year now and it’s been no problem at all. The end of my third trimester, problem.

Not only am I a worrier, but I also have a HUGE problem excepting help and it gets heightened when I’m pregnant. When I was pregnant with Henry, I was still working a 9 to 5 job and I swear that my co-workers had to take rabies shots in case I went crazy and bit them. Every time someone would try to take a box from me or help me do something, I would feel my blood pressure go up and even find myself try to repress (sometimes not very successfully) the urge to explode.

“I got it! I’m fine! Totally good!” Those were my core expressions for the full nine months. I even remember a time when I was throwing cardboard into a dumpster, I must have been about six months along with Henry. The wind caught a piece and took it out of my hand, sending it onto the ground below the dock I was standing on. My boss threw a fit when I jumped from the dock, grabbed the piece and ambled back up. She was totally right, by the way, but at the time, I was rolling my eyes at all of the fussing. Bad call.

When I was pregnant with Henry, I hiked Camels Hump with Andy. I was far enough along to be showing quite a bit and it felt great to get to the top and say,

“Ha! Ha! Take that! I’m pregnant and I just hiked Camels Hump in an hour!” I instantly regretted it though, while coming back down. The rocks were slippery and steep and visions of me loosing my footing and landing on my stomach made my hands shake all the way down. Bad call.

With my son, I was going to be a power woman. I would even joke about how much I loved the idea of chopping firewood in the snow while pregnant, “Little House on the Prairie” style. I wasn’t going to let the pregnancy stop me from what I wanted to do, except drink beer.

Now, I’m pregnant with Wren. I’ve haven’t hiked a single mountain, but I’ve still had that same attitude. I can do it all! I can take care of my son all day, who has chosen now to drop his naps, make dinner for my husband, try to keep the house clean and then work until almost midnight every night without any help. I could too. For the first two trimesters, I could. I was up on the top of that mountain again, feeling the high of being a power pregnant woman. But now, now it’s time to head back down and the rocks are a lot more slippery than I remember when I was heading up.

I’ve chosen to go caffeine free with this pregnancy (eye rolling may ensue at any point) as I did with Henry. OK, OK, I’ve been eating chocolate. But I have cut out that blessed cup of caffeinated coffee everyday. I drink decaf hoping for some kind of placebo, sometimes it works… third trimester, my brain knows what’s up, no more placebo.

So there I am Ladies and Gentlemen, top of Camels Hump, all of the way back down to go and it feels like I’m stuck making the trek in stilettos instead of Keens. This is a feeling I’m not used to and I hate (just like real heels). I’m getting tired all of the time. I’m no longer the mother to Henry during the day that I started out as, that I want to be. My husband even tells me he feels like my personality is trapped in the body of a 90 year old woman. But, I’ve seen some 90 year olds with more energy. I cry at the drop of a hat, more than usual and every day feels like a marathon.

It should be noted here too that I have a father-in-law that is retired and has offered to take Henry during the day if I want a day to sleep. I have never taken him up on it. Why? It would be admitting that I need help. Too hard to do.

So last night, I go to work. I’m dragging like any night and it hits me. I can’t go on like this for another two weeks. I just can’t. I had told my boss that I would be working until I went into labor and I am scared out of my mind to call her and go back on my word. But I do. She tells me that she actually saw it coming as the preschool as complained that salt is not getting cleaned from the floor as they would like it. She then goes on to say that she is stressed right now because they still have not found someone to take over when I leave and she has several people out on vacation. I instantly regret making the call. I have put her out and have caused her more stress.

We talk for a while longer and she says that a new woman is coming in tonight to train with me. Hopefully, she says, she will work out. I hang up and feel terrible. I have stressed out my boss and also, have not been doing as good a job as the client wants me too. I have been found out.

I call Andy and tell him how I feel and there’s a long pause.

“You’re kidding me, right? Are you really worried about salt on the floor or the fact that your boss doesn’t have someone yet? You’re PREGNANT! We’re about to welcome our last child into our family! Salt on the floor and her situation are the last things you need to be thinking about.”

He’s right. He’s completely right. He’s right and all of the people who have offered to help me are right. I’m pregnant. I’m carrying a human being. I treated it as if it were an ailment that I was courageously carrying on with my life despite, not a growing child that can suffer from stress hormones or a mother’s lack of sleep.

My pregnancy isn’t about me. It’s about that growing child inside of me. It’s not about proving myself or coming across as a super woman. It’s about getting that child and the child I already have, safely to the next level.

I’m not going to worry about salt on a floor or, sadly, the fact that my boss might have to scramble. I’m finally worrying about the thing that I need to be worrying about, my family.

And it feels great.

.

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