I hate this "all-day sickness in the third trimester" stuff. Nausea, vomiting, fatigue. Combined with a huge belly and extreme heartburn. I'm not joking when I say extreme. I woke up in the middle of the night either 4 or 5 times last night to take 2 Tums each time. And the vomiting? Let's just say it has been violent enough to burst some blood vessels under my eye. My super-busy schedule and desire to finish about ten more projects before the baby comes has me on the verge of a mental breakdown. Yesterday my symptoms got so unbearable that I canceled all our plans except for in-home therapy until the weekend and suspended all expectations of a clean house and cooked dinner. I'm counting one load of washed, dried, and folded laundry a victory. I'm not feeling guilty over watching two episodes of Blues Clues with Abigail, even if it happens every day this week. No expectations. My husband walked through the door yesterday and asked, "So what are your dinner plans?" in this no-judgement tone of voice that really meant, "I can be home with nachos in about 15 minutes." (Nachos are my current craving).
That makes all of this sound really easy, like I just woke up and guilt-free brushed off all my responsibilities. Well it wasn't that easy. It involved tears just as my husband's carpool pulled up in front of our building, among feelings of failure and some bashing by people who have stories that start out with "When I was that pregnant, I could still..."
I just kept my head down, plowed through the feelings, did a Google search on "overcoming feelings of guilt," and spent some time in prayer. Okay, so maybe I rank in the top most pathetic pregnant people list. Maybe I'm the only person this side of the Mississippi who can't handle life when eight months pregnant. That's not something I'm proud of; certainly not something I want to run around proclaiming, but it's also not something that I am motivated to change as I'm leaning over the toilet puking up breakfast.
So yesterday, today, and tomorrow are lazy days for us. When we woke up to grey skies and freezing drizzle this morning, Abigail and I decided that it would also be pajama day. So she's rocking some pink-striped sheep and I've got on yoga pants. We're sucking up whatever natural light we can find by keeping the curtains open, the lights off, and candles lit. We had popsicles for breakfast. We've got soothing music playing in the background. "Pretend picnic in the living room" and "drawing fishy pictures" count as productive. And we'll probably watch Blues Clues a few times. And we just may make peanut butter oatmeal cookies and eat them for lunch. No shame.