This morning I woke up with that horrible, tremendous backache that makes me feel like Grandma Moses, 203 years old, ready for that frail bone that holds the hips together to buckle and snap, once and for all.
My mood was no better.
When I'm feeling this way, the only thing that works is for me to clean...and when I say clean, I mean CLEAN. It's warfare between me and the grime. Scott walked in midway through my cleaning fest while the kids were watching Iron Man (yes, the tv standards have slidden down that slippery slope of debauchery as of late), and said, "Your cleaning ways are turning me on!"
Made me laugh, and I love that man.
It was around this time (~start of 3rd trimester) where hell's bells broke loose with my pregnancy with Asher. I have tried so hard to be that happy shiny pregnant woman, tickers and all, and let me be the first to tell you that most of it is an illusion. In those quiet moments where I am lying on the couch and I feel her kick, I know that baby F is mine, that I will love her, no matter what happens. And it's also in those moments that follow where terror fills my heart.
I've seen too much, I know too much, I've witnessed too much, probably too much for my own good. Add that combination to past experiences and a tendency for a downward spiral into depression and anxiety in the third trimester of all my pregnancies, and let's just say that crying happens alot around here.
It's not like I have any stressors or anything. I mean, isn't it completely normal for a house in your neighborhood to have the FBI show up and do a raid? (different post for a different day) And also, you really shouldn't freak out when the elementary school you adore that is RIGHT BEHIND YOUR FREAKING HOUSE AND HALF THE REASON YOU MOVED HERE is set to close next year. So now there's going to be a big empty building behind our house.
Lovely for resale value.
Oh, and, you know, that 4 month old baby boy upstairs that I love.
What of his future? Totally up in the air, up to the wind, up to a judge. This keyboard has seen so many tears I think it's probably telling the mouse, "Dude, let's ABSCOND. I am SOOOOOOOO tired of the DRAMA!!!!!!!!!!"
There are also kid boogers in the keyboard, which probably isn't so great for ITS resale value, but that is, again, a post for another day.
When I visited the doc she gave me a certain medication which I will not be sharing publicly. She said to me, and I quote, "You are under a significant amount of stress and you are handling it VERY well. I can tell you take mothering very seriously and you love those kiddos. However, you need this medication to help you not feel so anxious."
And I said, "OK, I will take it."
And it has helped.
It's all flying back to me, why I chose not to have a VBAC with Asher. It has nothing to do with my own weakness, as I beat myself up for about 2 years over; it has to do with my past experiences, the chemicals that make me really anxious during pregnancy, and the fact that every mother needs to make her own choice regarding these things.
I'm not going to beat myself up about it. However Baby F chooses to arrive, or whatever things we choose to do to get her here, I'm going to be A-OK with.
I have to be.
It's all a part of learning, of growing, of knowing your limitations.
I guess I'm posting all of this not because I want to be seen as some ever-faithful martyr, but because I'm being honest at how hard all of this is. This life?
I've seen the red thread break a time or two before, and I'm terrified it will happen again.
And, to top it all off, I've been so anxious on how to tell Lucy her beloved little school will no longer be her beloved little school.
Her response? "Well, Mama, actually, I love the playground at the other school so much better. It has a bug you can climb on and our school doesn't."
Tender mercies, I tell you,