I Like To Torture Myself

I like to torture myself.  It’s the only explanation I can provide as to why I refuse to be one of those women who just takes it easy, feet elevated on a pillow during pregnancy while they are being waited on hand and foot.

Ask my how many foot rubs I’ve gotten these past 8.5 months?  Not one.  And how many back rubs?  One after begging, pleading and resorting to crying to demonstrate how serious I was with the lower back pain.  I have gotten two calf rub-downs when the leg cramping was so bad, my five-year-old thought I was dying.

But other than that, there is downtime or relax time for me.

I wake-up at the crack of dawn, take the kid to school while my other half snores away until he has to go to work at noon!  I have a full-time career with roller coaster periods of downtime and high stress.  I’m currently in the high stress, manageable work load range at the moment. I have gestational diabetes which no matter what I eat or how boring and good I am is still running to high and the finger-pricking and watching the clock are seriously running my days.  I eat boring lunches that I now have to bring from home.  I pick up my kindergartener at the end of the day and head home to cook a wonderful dinner for everyone else while I eat more boring food.

My home smells like baked chocolate chip cookies because Nathan loves to make them and its great quality time with him.  Everyone gets a half-dozen of the gooey warm goodness.  I get none.  We do a homework if there is any.  I pick up all the dishware and empty coke cans (which of course don’t belong to me) and if I’m up for it, I’ll do the dishes.  Nathan gets ready for bed, I read a bed-time story and tuck him in.  Erik gets home thirty minutes later.  I re-heat dinner for him while he decompresses and wonder, why can’t I get that time?

I can make time for myself, but  the guilt of so many others needing me takes that time and eats it alive.  And the moment I do, I get nagging and dirty looks and the house looks like hell.

Sigh.

I like to torture myself.  It’s the only explanation as to why I’m always on the go with a belly so big I waddle. So, until this baby comes and I get to go on maternity leave, Nathan moves out of the house to college and Erik decides to be the busy bee parent, I’m shit outta luck.  And none of that will ever happen simultaneously…

So, here I am and I’m off to a doctor’s appointment after coming into work early half an hour to get some work done.  See you all soon.  I’ve got a fifteen-minute block of time available at 1:15pm next October.

 

 

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