A Little Rain Must Fall

One of the best things about blogging is the chance to be completely honest with myself. Although other people read this, I don’t feel like I need to censor or cushion what I say, so everything I write can be the blunt, and sometimes ugly, truth that I need to vent. This is my truth today:

I am tired in every way possible. I am so annoyed at myself for not being able to keep tears at bay while answering the phone or checking in patients. It’s very hard to smile and act cheerful when I feel so low. I am not cheerful today, and I am not optimistic about the future. Lately, I have found myself aching for whatever sort of maternity leave I’ll have, only to remind myself that it will likely be short lived and full of adjustments. Getting up and going to work has been harder and harder each and every day- my awkwardness at moving around now and my hormones getting the best of me have meant lots of bathroom breaks to cry and take deep breaths. And a week ago, my job changed drastically to the point that I dread it. I wake up in a bad mood and come home in a bad mood. Sky has probably just about had it with me. He has been looking for a job, but I find myself wishing I could do anything to trade places with him now. I want to sleep in. I want so much to just rest.

I like spontaneity, but not with big things- and right now, I have no idea if or when Sky will get a job, if I will ever be able to quit this one, or if I will be able to stay home with my baby. Daycare is so expensive and I am so wholeheartedly against it. I feel like the only guarantee I have of the future is being stuck in my job indefinitely. I wonder how we can make it through to raise children- especially to raise them the way I want, at home with me and not at some facility with strangers while I’m at work just to pay to keep them there. I feel bitter and guilty that I can’t be fully excited about this child because of all these worries.

Add to this the incessant, daily comments about my size, questions about my due date, questions of whether I will work, if I have found a daycare, and if I have the nursery set up. The comments about what I eat or that I should eat more or eat less are enough to drive a perfectly healthy girl to anorexia. Anything I say is met with, “It will only get worse!” Stop telling me that! In fact, stop saying anything to me about my pregnancy unless I ask you something. I am so damn fed up with my body being a topic of conversation that I could scream. I know I am huge and unattractive, and that I will probably end up with stretch marks everywhere and saggy everything and cease to exist as anything but a mother, so quit describing it all in detail! I have even been told that my life will be over-why on earth would someone be so heartless to say something like that? When I think back over the comments this week alone, the single one that meant anything to me was someone genuinely liking the baby’s name. It meant so much to me to finally hear something positive that I wanted to hug that person. Why is what should be the greatest experience of my life met with so much negativity from other people? Why does it make me the target for rudeness and nagging and worthless advice? Why do people not understand I have enough of my own worries to process without needing more heaped on me?

This is what it feels like to be at my wits’ end.