The Ugly

I try not to write when I’m depressed.  I wait until I feel better and then I try to frame it in a more positive light.  I try to learn a lesson from it.  But that seems a bit dishonest, doesn’t it?  Depression isn’t just about the light at the end.  It’s also about the bitter darkness of the ride.

I feel like my body and mind have hit their limits.  I’ve spent many months trying to keep my head above water.  I’ve tried “taking care of myself” like people say – making sure I rest and relax.  But where has that gotten me?  I’m just as tired as I normally would be, but nothing gets done.

I’m just completely overwhelmed at this point.  My baby is due a month from Tuesday, but she would be induced in three weeks if she’s not here before then.  (One benefit of high risk is that you don’t have to deal with the dreaded 40^th week.)  And I’m not ready for her at all.

Literally, I am not ready at all.  My house is a disaster.  We moved the girls into their new room this weekend, and their new room really isn’t even done yet.  We need to install some hardware and hang up the pictures and finish organizing all of those toys.  There are SO many toys.

And the baby’s room is just a half empty room.  To be honest, I’m not too concerned about her room much because she’ll be with us for at least the first six weeks although the Goose was with us six months – until it got to the point where we were waking her up every time we would go in to go to bed or anything.

But I don’t have her baby blanket done.  I have one hat made for her, but I want to make two more, and I haven’t even gotten a chance to start yet.  I bought her some clothes that she could wear home from the hospital, but that’s only if she makes it to 39 weeks.  If she’s born before then, the more than likely will not fit her because I bought 0-3 months.

I think back to when I was pregnant with Magoo and how I had our bags packed, and I would spend hours organizing the clothes in her closet.  Obviously, no matter what I would do, with a third child I simply cannot spend hours every night in there rearranging clothes because her two sisters need me as well.

It’s just that the end of pregnancy is supposed to be a time of looking forward and anticipation, and I just keep panicking that she’s going to come and nothing will be ready.

And I know things would work out if that happened, but the Goose came before we were ready, and the homecoming was so much less than I wanted it to be because TJ spent the entire day in our attic digging out the bassinet and clothes and everything else.

And if I could, I would just stay up all night doing all of this crap around the house and finally getting it done.  But in the last 36-48 hours, my legs seemed to have stopped working much.  I don’t know if it’s just the ligaments loosening more or if she’s in an odd position, but it really hurts to do anything.  And yet still I would stay up and do everything, but I’m so overwhelmed that I don’t know where to start.

I have a zillion things in my head that I want to get done, and it makes it impossible to do even one.  Counterproductive, I know.  And of course, that just makes me more mad at myself because technically I could probably get some of this stuff done before the contractions came on too hard.

I just want a nice home.  That’s all I ever really want.  I want a nice home for all of us.  Where I can feel at peace without clutter and mess everywhere and the girls can play and have fun and TJ can relax and I can sit on the couch and crochet the baby her blanket in peace and anticipation.

I know I have to loosen my standards with two little ones running around.  And I have.  But then I feel left behind – to give everyone else room to live and grow, I suffer in silence not really feeling at home anywhere in my house.

And I’ll stop the whining now.  Really, I have no idea why I’m even publishing this.  It’s just where I’m at right now.  And what’s the purpose of a blog if you only use it to post the good.  That seems rather dishonest.

And maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow.

I wish I was able to feel comfortable hiring a cleaning person.  I just don’t have it in me.  I don’t like people snooping around my things — I’m much too neurotic for that. Oh well.