Wow, I’m in a new final stretch of this pregnancy. I’ve been hit by the tired stick. I usually wake up with energy early and get stuff done before work or before my family wakes up. Now I reluctantly wake up. And by 1pm, I can barely keep my eyes open. If I eat some protein, I can last another hour or two, but if I haven’t slept by 4 I think I will collapse. For a while, an hour nap would set me; now an hour feels like a tease. I’ve been having a babysitter come in the afternoon so I can nap. Sometimes, I feel like I’m neglecting my daughter, but it’s probably no good if I fell asleep under the swing set.
Oh, and they are back! My pregnancy arm rash or as I call it, arm acne. Not as bad as with Vivien, but not great. Itchy arms… I have to sleep in a cold room, or I will rip my skin off.
Maybe I’ve blown it. I lie down with my daughter for her naps and bedtime; I have to be out of the house for her to allow anyone else to do it. And even then, with babysitter, dad, aunt, grandma… it can be a struggle. I don’t mind doing it most of the time. I am ready to sack out at any given moment, so often it’s fine with me. But lately, I had three days running where she was not going to sleep.
So I become mommie dearest. If I really can’t get her to nap, then she has to stay in her room for the “nap time” and I go to my room and either sleep – rare – or watch MSNBC.
I don’t know if it’s my general anxiety or my full bladder, but sleep has become a tad restless lately. Seeing that I’m only 21 weeks pregnant, I think it’s too early for this. But this is the third morning in a row that I am waking up at 5 am, unable to go back to sleep.
From 5 to 6 I have to lay and worry about everything and everyone. Or work up some dormant anger about some past slight. Having some time before the house wakes up is okay. I make my one cup of coffee for the day – a sweet half-cup before I’m forced to switch to decaf. Then I take a walk, read the paper, watch the news, space out online, but dang, I’d sure like more sleep.
I think the baby is nudging me to remember what it will be like when he arrives. No longer the leisure life of a kid in preschool, but growling at my husband if he doesn’t help with the 11 and 2 feedings. Oh, yes, I know what’s coming. Breathe in “miracle of life,” breathe out “someone will care when I die.” I must stay focused on the important things, not that disabled feeling for the first couple of weeks, or months, or year and a half.