Six-ish Weeks and Counting

Yesterday, one of my co-workers told me she could always tell when I got into the office in the morning, because she could hear me sigh as I sat down. I generally refer to it as 'grunting', but I'm glad she went with 'sighing' instead. It sounds much more feminine and sweet. It also sounds much more inaccurate, but still...

I'm going with it.

As of this coming Friday, I will be six weeks out from my due date, and I would be lying if I didn't say I would pay all of the money in the world to speed these weeks along a bit. I am feeling cumbersome and uncoordinated and just...tired. Steve and I have plans in the next few weeks to clean out the office off of our family room, so we can turn it into a combination spare bedroom (in time for my sister's visit over Thanksgiving, since the room she normally sleeps in is now Brigid's room) and playroom, so I can open up some family room space currently occupied by toys for all of the stuff that comes along with babies. And all I can think about is how much work it's going to be for poor Steve because bending over and picking something up isn't exactly my strength right now.

But, instead of wallowing in my 'I'd give anything to be able to take a deep breath. JUST ONE DEEP BREATH!!!' despair (because even THAT is too much effort for me right now), I'm making plans. I bought a treadmill last night, because I started running after I had Brigid, and I felt fantastic, and I imagine it's going to be kind of hard to run outside of the house when there are TWO schedules to work through, so running IN the house might just make my job easier. I found and charged my Fitbit, so I can start tracking activity and food intake now, to maybe get those terrible pregnancy habits I HAD been forming a little more under control earlier than I did the last time.

Mostly, I'm doing this because I am beyond tired of waddling, and I want to feel like I'm maybe going to make things easier on myself in the long run, but also because my metabolism is now three years slower than it was after Brigid, and I really should have been watching things closer during the ENTIRE pregnancy, but you know...hindsight. And all of that.

And of course, I spend quality time with all of my sweaters and skinny jeans and boots that no longer fit over my calves at least once a week, because as materialistic as this sounds, missing all of my clothes was a seriously motivating factor after the first pregnancy. And I will take whatever motivation I can find right now.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take my 17th trip of the day to the bathroom, and it's going to take me a few minutes to leverage myself up and out of this chair...

Pregnancy. It's so glamorous!

Eight Years Ago...

Eight years ago, Steve and I had been together for three years, having met our senior year of college. We were living in Cincinnati, working in completely different jobs, with no real responsibility outside of our two cats, who were perfectly fine with being left alone for a day or two if we decided to make an impromptu weekend trip to somewhere fun.

I was working for a bank, and attended happy hours two or three nights a week. Steve was working in sales, and had season tickets to almost every sports team in and around Cincinnati (including a full slate of home baseball games, an entire NFL season, and a college basketball schedule). What we were going to do on any given weekend night was a pretty big topic of conversation most Friday afternoons.

We never slept, and it really wasn't that big of a deal.

Now, all of this time later, we live in Atlanta, with those same two cats, but we've added two dogs and a kid to the mix, with another one of those babies everybody is so crazy about on the way. We get home from work as soon as we can. We can find the time to make maybe three or four live sporting events a year, if that, but it has to be planned well in advance. I can't tell you the last time I tried to make plans for a weekend night, since we're too busy at the zoo or the pumpkin patch or the apple orchard or Costco during the day to have any energy for anything other than quality couch time at night.

 

We still never sleep, but HOO BUDDY has it caught up with us, big time.

 

And still, I don't mind. I love our life together, and other than the fact that we still haven't won the lottery and moved ourselves to our own private island somewhere, I really wouldn't change a thing.

 

(But seriously, world. Where, in the name of all that is good, is my island?!?!?! I would like it now, please...)

The Belly is Back

Nothing like writing a really depressing post, then disappearing for a week, huh? I do want to thank you for the sweet comments and emails after my little 'Brigid doesn't like me' meltdown. I know I'm being just a bit ridiculous and over-reactive to the situation, but this parenting thing, man...it's tough. Kids get pretty good at tearing your heart out when you least expect it at a very, VERY young age, apparently.

COMPLETELY related, I feel like I need to go back and apologize to my parents for everything I ever did when I was growing up that may have hurt their feelings, because goodness knows they deserve something from me, now that I know how hard this whole thing is.

Also completely related, maybe you could send some sunshine and rainbow thoughts my way starting tomorrow, when Steve leaves us for a four night trip to Denver, if you have any to spare? I don't want to get beaten by a three-year old again, if I can help it.

On a more positive note, a lady at the gas station told me I looked cute today. So I've got that going for me, which is nice...

T-shirt: Target

Cardigan: Banana Republic (outlet)

Skirt: Motherhood Maternity

Sad. I'm just sad...

My daughter doesn't like me. Not in the way I always thought she would, anyway.

From very early on, it was obvious that Brigid was a daddy's girl. We couldn't persuade her to sit and cuddle with us very often, but when she did decide she was ready for a break? It was always a break with Steve. When we go places? She wants to hold daddy's hand. When we get into the car? She wants daddy to buckle her in. When you ask her who she loves, who is her favorite, who she wants to hang out with? The answer is almost always daddy.

When she's not feeling well? She wants her daddy.

And, I know, I should be happy about this. I shouldn't take it personally. Steve and Brigid have the kind of relationship that any daughter should have with her daddy. She adores him, and the feeling is mutual. They're very lucky to have each other.

But still, I wonder...what did I do wrong?

I know she loves me. I know, when there are other people around, she asks for me sometimes. But she also refuses to hug me sometimes, refuses to give me bedtime kisses, refuses to let me read books to her.

Because she wants her daddy.

Last night, we were in night two of Steve's three night business trip to Charlotte. And Brigid, upset about going to bed, started crying for her daddy. And I tried to tell her he wasn't home. I tried to ask her what mommy could do to help her feel better. And I got nothing more than 'I want my daddy'. Repeated over and over and over and over again. I tried to hold her, I tried to read to her, I tried to let her play with the iPad, I tried just lying next to her and rubbing her back.

My presence just seemed to make everything worse. And she never once stopped asking for Steve.

After about an hour of this, I told her I would go downstairs and try to find something to make her feel better. And then, I just went to bed and cried. At 8:45. I was too exhausted to do anything else.

For the next thirty minutes, she was mostly quiet, except when she'd call out for her daddy every few minutes. And then she fell asleep. Only to wake up this morning, asking for daddy again.

If this were an isolated incident, I'd chalk it up to her trying to get a rise out of me. But it's happened the last few times Steve has been out of town. It happens sometimes when he's in town, and I'm just trying to put her to bed. It happens at preschool, no matter who drops her off. It happens when my mother-in-law is driving Brigid back from lunch with friends. It happens when I get her up some mornings, and Steve is already at work.

She loves her daddy. I picked a great father for my kids. We should all be happy that we are so lucky in this situation, where I don't have to be enough for her. And yet, my heart is broken because I'm not enough for her. I can't comfort her when she is upset like her daddy can.

And that's tough to face.

Much like the job situation, I'm very much hoping that this is another product of crazy, raging pregnancy hormones, and I'll be able to process all of my feelings of inadequacy in a more realistic light six to twelve months from now. But at this moment? I feel like a crappy mom.

How am I supposed to do this all over again a second time?