Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk? I know I do, especially in seasons where I am very, well, tired. Feeling tired is also like having chronic diarrhea of the mouth. No matter what day, time of day or type of day, the temptation is to always acknowledge the exhaustion being felt above all else. And it makes sense—being tired, being overly-tired, is a difficult state for day-to-day life. Parents know this is so true.
Lately I have found myself shying away from being asked how I am doing or feeling. I brace for the question when having polite conversation, and I really hope it doesn’t propel the next question, “How did you sleep? How are you sleeping?” In my head I am screaming, Nooooooo! Bad question. It makes me want to use the annoying words. In my home right now, the “annoying words” I am referring to are ones pertaining to being tired/exhausted/fatigued/wiped out/depleted. It’s like a broken record of annoying honesty. Blah, blah, blah! I tell myself to shut up pretty regularly and suffer in silence because one can only complain so much to the same people (aka my tired husband).
The truth is, this pregnancy is getting very, very real. My body is slowing down and my tolerance seems to be dwindling a bit. I’m not operating at 100 percent for the child I have, and the child I am growing probably needs a little more downtime with mom. I keep getting hit with the realization: Oh my. We are about to do this whole thing again with another newborn. It’s one thing to tell yourself the hard days are a phase and things will move forward. That’s always true! But the phase pep-talk doesn’t really apply when the third trimester arrives, and the final countdown begins.
To cope, I find myself trying to entertain Bellamy in bed to try and relax while simultaneously keeping her from falling off the edge. She is my “oldest” child, which is a funny term to me considering she’s 10 months old and pretty mobile. She has two current demands in life: let me sleep in your bed (a bad case of Croup ruined her independent sleep habits about two weeks ago) and let me down, so I can crawl all over the dirty floor. (How many moms know you can scrub your hardwoods for hours, and your kid will still be a gross, hairy, dusty mess after playtime?)
Our current home isn’t exactly meant for babies. It’s very small and feels like one big baby danger. We are working on switching a room—or switching homes, period—to create a better environment for exploring, but with two full-time jobs and two super long commutes, there’s not a lot of time left over each day. Also, my husband and I do not have corresponding days off (another thing we are working on), so we basically make small hacks during the nights we feel up to it to create some sort of progress. It’s hard to paint a crib or assemble furniture with a crawling baby who will not nap!
Are you tired of reading my post yet? It’s OK! I totally get it. This is my therapy right now because channeling it is better than letting it run wild in our 600 square foot apartment. (Yes, a family of four living in a shoebox.) Most of the time, I am actually really proud of our hustle and “make it work” attitude about life. This is the season of sleepless nights and long days. Everyone pays their dues at some point! I’m just trying to have a sense of humor about it all, when possible, and be willing to call it out when the whining gets too thick. (Note to self: your whining is thick as hell.)
Truth is, I am blessed and undeserving to have two babies. That’s the loudest emotion I feel these days … gratitude. It easily trumps the not-so-temporary tiredness of this season. Bellamy’s sparkle and zeal refreshes my perspective, and the many baby kicks I experience remind me I am growing a life—a new human life! So for now, every day is a “no-makeup Monday,” and my husband is definitely picking up our regular takeout sushi order for dinner (avocado roll for the win). We’re going to soar once again, and I will always remember talk is cheap.