LIAR!!!!! (Murphy's baaaack)

So you know how I mentioned that I felt like my doc was just telling me I was a cm dilated just to pacify me?  Yeah, he was.

Today?  I'm only a fingertip to one, MAYBE.  He even said, "But nothing significant."  Do you know how homicidal that makes me?  Thank goodness my fat, pregnant self was beached on the table in stirrups or he would have gotten a fist in his mouth for sure.

But that was after I weighed in at 162, SIX pounds more than last week.  I guess that'll teach them to tell me that I'm not eating.  I always love proving people wrong.  It doesn't happen often so I have to enjoy it while I can.

Then the even worse news?  He won't even talk about induction until my next appointment on the 15th, in which I will be two days away from 39 weeks.  All those people who've been having a cow at the mention of a 38 week induction?  Yeah, relaaax.  It ain't happenin'.  This kid is going to break my ribs, make me pee on myself in public, and be a hormonal wreck for at least 2 more weeks.  Such fun.  It was like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel only to realize it was a lightening bug holding up a sign as you pass by that reads: Just kidding!

Then he tells me she's measuring a week behind.  No dice, Doc, sorry, LIAR.  You're little measuring thingy?  Yeah, it's off.  About like your head is going to be VERY soon if you don't tell me some way to get her OUT NOW!

Now I realize two weeks isn't that long in the grand scheme of time.  But with two VERY cranky kids under 2.5, a son who thinks it's a fun past time to be clingy and a crybaby, being fat as a cow, feeling like every body part has been pulled apart, peeing every 10 minutes, having a bowling ball between my legs, and didn't I mention cranky babies?, oh and the Hubby starting 10 hour work days from now until next Saturday, I'm done.  Stick the perpetual fork in me.  I need a vacation.  A long one.  I need to breathe some fresh air.  Go on a quiet walk.  Get away without feeling guilty.  I need less stress.

I need a lot of things right now and I'm feeling pretty alone, too.  It's all the hormones.  All I know is I drove home from my doc's appointment today and couldn't stop crying.  I feel so let down by my body (at this point with BOTH the others I was at least 1 cm dilated and effaced some).  Hubby and I have been at each other's throat for days now.  I simply don't know what to do.  I know I won't be pregnant forever but I guess it's the fact that since I can't enjoy the end of this last pregnancy, I want to start enjoying her on the outside.  I want to get on with our lives, get the sleepless nights over with and get into a rhythm.

I feel so whiny and wimpy even typing that.  Every pregnant woman gets to this point I guess, but it just wasn't this bad with the first two.  I never expected to feel like this.  I feel selfish and mean.  Well, I'm not feeling like that, I am those things these days and I don't like it.  I'm having to rely on too many people to get me through.  I don't mind asking for help SOME, but it's becoming an every day thing and I feel like I'm abusing people's generosity.  I don't want to be the kind of person who dumps my kids on my friend or family just because I need a break or I have "better" things to do and I just don't want to deal with them.  My kids need me and they're not getting ME right now.  I'm suddenly some monster that catches myself raising my voice far too often, disciplining while I'm angry, not giving them any attention and allowing the TV to act as a babysitter.  Not cool.  With one little pregnancy that isn't agreeing with me, it all comes back rearing it's ugly head like I haven't spent seven years overcoming it.

Ugh.  I'm so glad Murphy is back.  (Insert sarcasm) I missed him so much. (end sarcasm)

Will I ever relax again?

Springtime is here and I'm loving it.  With it bring the incurable urge to write.  Every spring and fall I can't help myself, I just want to sit down with the laptop and write all day.  I've done that since I was a teenager.  My best work usually comes out of these little visits from my muse.  

The urge and actually finding time to write are two different things entirely, however.  With our recent move, potty training, teething, taking the kids outside to play, keeping them occupied, there has been little time...ok, none at all for me to satisfy my itch.  Writing has always been therapeutic for me and when I looked down to see my fingers torn to shreds (compliments of my teeth), I realized I need some writing therapy.  Bad.  I'm apparently stressed about something and I wish I knew what it was.  Wait, I probably do.

I can only guess it's because I'm having pretty frequent contractions and I'm not even in my third trimester yet.

Maybe it's guilt over having to discipline Punky for pooping in her pants (hey, I gave her two weeks and it's time to get tough).

Maybe it's the mounting stress of a bigger house to clean.  I cleaned all day friday, looked around that evening and it looked like I had been sitting on my butt all day.  I sort of feel like I'm drowning.  I haven't mopped my wooden floors yet and today marks 5 weeks in our new house.  I HAVE mopped the kitchen floors but it already needs it again.  And don't get me started on vacuuming with the little dirt devil of an upright we have on the shag carpet.  Ugh.  I could go on and on.  I'm nesting something serious right now and I wish I could take a vacation and come back to a spotless house that cleans itself.  I guess everyone does, though, right?

Maybe it's the fact that Hubby and I CANNOT agree on any names for this new kid of ours.

Or hey, maybe it's all of the above.  My energy levels are zapped.  I feel like a heifer.  I'm the size I was when I delivered Punky and Chicken and I still have over 12 weeks to go.  I seriously canNOT imagine what the rest of this pregnancy is going to be like.  I don't even want to think about the stretch marks, either.  Double UGH.

Well, for now, I'll enjoy the spring weather.  I'll enjoy watching the kiddos play outside (and ignore all the scrapes they get every.single.time.we're.out.).  I'll forget all about the poopy pants and the accidents we're still having every day.  I'm going to clean as much as I can until my body tells me no more and forget the rest.  If it gets bad enough, well, I'll ignore that, too, or hire my friend who cleans houses to come do it.  And yeah, I won't stress that we're going to be calling the new baby "Number Three" or "New Baby" until it's fifteen.  I WILL NOT stress any more.  Hmm...that was easy to type, if only I could make my teeth believe it for my finger's sake!