Just moments before I sat down to write this, my husband asks me, “Hey, do you still feel pregnant?” I pondered the question for approximately half a microsecond before laughing, sighing, and walking away. Something so obviously ridiculous needn’t require an actual verbal response, I figured. My moods are still hard to predict and the pounds are still piling on in places I’ve never experienced, but the worst physical handicap I have is that my energy is diminishing much faster and more frequently than I remember from the first trimester (which feels like a billion eons ago). I want sleep. I need sleep. Sleep and I are BFFs and there’s no coming between us these days. I wake up in the morning and immediately wonder what time I can crawl back under the sheets and still have it be considered acceptable in normal-human-being-land.
Today was one of those days. Sundays usually are. The frustrating part is, I have no idea what makes me so tired. Is it the actual physical activity I do over the course of the day? Today I played with the dogs at the dog park – burned about 9 calories. Then, I played Guitar Hero with the neighbor girl – burned about 3 calories (mostly in my fingers). Then, we went grocery shopping – burned, oh, about 60 calories (ooo…ahhh). So, as you can see, there is no reason I should’ve come home from all of that at 6 p.m. and taken a nap on the couch, but that is exactly what I did. Wow – a loss of 72 calories and I couldn’t keep my eyes open? Most would say that is not the equivalent of a marathon-running day, but it sure felt like it to me. Yes, I could’ve ran 26.2 miles, wearing Crocs, against the wind head-first into an ironing board being held by Michael Clark Duncan on steroids. THAT is how tired I truly was.
But, it doesn’t make sense that I’m being drained by my physical activities, or lack thereof. Not enough proof behind that one. So, what is it?
Maybe it’s the emotional aspect of it all. I woke up this morning from a terrible baby-dream. Our newborn son was spending his first night in his new crib under the care of his new parents and our little Super-Baby used his 1-day-old strength to pry the slabs off and wriggle through the cheap gaping hole-of-a-cage, thudding loudly onto the wood floor. I understand that this dream is a little far-fetched, so you can save the “you should see a therapist” comment for another blog post, but I’m simply exemplifying the emotional turmoil I’ve been feeling when it comes to doing this whole ordeal day-by-day for the rest of my life…getting him through it alive and all. What kind of mother will I be? This is a thought that consumes my mind every minute of every day, whether I want it to or not. I’d have to say it’s quite draining. But, does it explain why my head wants to crash against the keyboard right now? Probably not.
So, what is the reason for this constant sense of exhaustion? Well, I like to think of it like this:
My body is the current workplace for thousands of little cells. All these little cells are joining forces to help create one unified creature that, eventually, I get the pleasure of meeting, keeping, and loving forever. My job is to keep all these cells in line – “Stand up straight! Put that beer down! We’ve got a kicking leg – that’s progress, people! Oh, and I’m going to have to ask you to come in on Saturday…”
I know the work will be well worth it, but getting there takes time, energy, patience, persistence, and power. Yup, we’re all working overtime… it’s bound to lead to moments of fatigue and resentment.
Do I still feel pregnant, he asks? My body is pushing the clock, punching in in October and punching out in July. I am not only drained physically and emotionally, but I am also commanding a ship of hardworking sailor cells day in and day out until we complete our mission: Project Newborn.
Yes, I still feel pregnant. I will FEEL pregnant until I’m NOT pregnant. That’s how it works. Until then, I’ll just continue pushing on, preparing for and practicing our final presentation – when Nate and I get to show off our little nine-pound prototype model of beauty and perfection to the world. And, on that glorious day, I will proudly hang a sign painted in multi-colored glitter glue on my body’s office door that reads: “Closed for repairs. Please return in two to three years…when we will do this all over again.”