It’s 4:11 am. I feel unusually alert, extremely exhausted and slightly delirious. I’ve been up since 1:30am. Funnily enough, so has Bebop who’s been kicking, elbowing and doing the twist in my belly ALL NIGHT.
(Humor me while I become one of those people on Facebook you hate that’s always complaining about how tired they are. I know, I know.)
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not angry at the fact that she’s moving this much. How could I be? I’m grateful to know she’s energetic and healthy in there. I’m one of those lucky pregnant women that don’t have to worry about whether there’s something wrong because I didn’t feel her move in the last hour or two. No, there’s no need for counting kicks with this one. She is always keeping me on my toes.
But I am annoyed with myself. Because I just want to sleep, but my overactive mind and body won’t let me. I’ve slept through her movements before, but she’s also getting stronger by the week. This baby is jabbing me in the same spot over and over and it seems like what she really wants to do is break through my skin (ew). My legs are restless. I have to pee. My pajamas suddenly feel tight and itchy so I peel them off to get some relief. But then (wouldn’t you know it?), the blankets are now making me itch. When did my skin start being so sensitive? Note to self: have body lotion handy for times like this. I’ve got “All My Life” by KC & Jojo stuck in my head because…who knows? I haven’t heard that song since like 1999 or whenever it came out. To counteract that, I start humming a JLo song that I’ve only heard about 5 seconds of, so then I’ve got that 5-second loop stuck in my head, which is still better than that awful KC & Jojo song. Then I start poking my squishy belly button that is an outie at the moment. The baby is pressed up against it right now but when she retreats, it goes back to its normal innie self. At this point, it’s too late for me to get a proper amount of sleep, so I start toying with the idea of calling out of work. Although I hate calling out when I’m not actually sick. I always think that if I do it, I’ll get really sick the next week and have to call out again, at which point they may start to question whether I’m being truthful. I’m going to just suck it up and go in. Yes ma’am! I turn over, which feels like the 100th time in one hour. I just can’t seem to get comfortable. Turn over again. That makes 101. On the other hand, maybe I should call out of work…for my sanity? No, no. I’m a glutton for punishment (or just really responsible! ha) and finally decide, I’m not sick, I’m going in. When I sit up, I look over at Bob who is peacefully sleeping. I’m really going to regret not calling out.
So here I am. Sitting on the couch with my laptop writing this post and dreading the day ahead. I have to start getting dressed soon. I know in a little while, I’ll transform into a cranky zombie until I come back home which is TOO MANY HOURS away.
There is no effing way I’m cooking dinner tonight.
I think I’m just being prepped for the no-sleep stages of motherhood. At this rate, I’ll be the expert of running on fumes when the baby arrives.