See, I can't even remember how to spell sentence right. Problem!
So tired. Sleep. Now. Bed. Pillows. Snuggle. Cat. Zzzz.
Yes, I'm so tired that even typing out, "I'm so tired; I'd like to go to sleep now in my bed with my pillows while I snuggle my cat," is too much effort so I just say, "So tired."
At the end of every day (who am I kidding? By 2 p.m. every day) I am so tired that I can't even function. The bus ride home every night is torture, especially after it is no longer an express and stops at every. single. stop. between Ballard Ave & Market Street and our stop up the hill. Keeping my mind on work is torture, too. I am really struggling and I know it shows, and I hate that. I want to do a good job but I just feel so incapable of that right now, both physically and emotionally.
This tiredness is different than the first trimester kind as it's accompanied by not only sleepiness and a jet-lagged feeling, but also by myriad achy muscles and tendons to the point that makes it hard to even roll over in bed at night. I have to hold my arm out to Brett and have him help by pulling me over onto my other side. (Yes, I'm only 22 weeks. Yes, I know it only gets worse from here. Honestly, I try not to think about it.)
Sitting in my chair at work is torture; I hurt so bad by 3-ish I can't stand to sit there anymore and I feel like I'm going to come out of my skin. There have been several afternoons I have seriously contemplated lying down on the floor of the conference room just because I need some relief from the pull of gravity that occurs when I'm sitting in my chair or standing up.
I could keep going with this laundry list of whining but I feel like I should stop. When people ask me how I'm doing, I am compelled to just say, "Oh, fine! I'm just a little tired," because for some reason admitting that I am super uncomfortable already seems like an act of betrayal against myself -- like if it's this bad and I'm only 22 weeks, how in the hell am I going to handle being pregnant at, say 32 weeks? I feel like a big wussie wimp.
**whispering, so that the glow-y pregnant ladies of the world don't hear** But seriously? This whole being pregnant thing kind of stinks.
Don't get me wrong, I love feeling the baby move more than anything I've ever felt, and I love the way my belly is getting cute and round, I love strangers making comments about me being pregnant, and, let's be honest here, I love having people tell me I'm a cute pregnant lady.
But in all reality, much of my day is spent trying not to think about how uncomfortable/tired/sick/sore/whatever I am. And the truth is that I feel like a traitor to say that, a traitor to myself, a traitor to all the women who want a baby and can't have one, a traitor to my mom and sister, who both had super easy pregnancies, a traitor to moms in general, a traitor to my baby.
Blah. Hormones. See? That's another thing that stinks...but I'll just stop there.
This wasn't supposed to be such a whiny entry; I sat down here determined to write something semi-funny about how tired I am, but here we are, a few paragraphs later and a total vent in progress.
Oh well. In the interest of not falling of the face of the earth, I'll go ahead and post this, although as with many of my whinier posts, I'm sure I'll regret it tomorrow. But still, I want an accurate record of this pregnancy, and, well, let's just say this entry is nothing if not accurate.
I'm going to bed...ahhh...pillows. Cat. Down comforter. Zzzz....