
Sorry blogland, I have been undercover for a few days here. I got to a point where I couldn't deal and just needed to rest and cry and get to a place where I could deal again. It was just all SO HARD. And it culminated with a doctors appointment where my BP was up a bit - I'd gained 12 lbs in 2 weeks and my feet felt like watermelons. I was utterly convinced that I was on the road to preeclampsia and due to deliver way too early. (Despite these things my doctor doesn't seem overly concerned yet and has done the necessary bloodwork and stuff. It all came back fine so far, and we are watching it because we know to watch it).
But it all hit me and I was DONE. I am the fattest I have EVER been (no small feat for me) and I know it is pregancy and ok but it hit me harder than I expected. My body was tired, my mental and emotional states even more harried. Even things that should be straightforward seemed to want to throw curve balls last week.
I am trying to drink lots of water and eat low in salt but would look at our "budget" (if you can call no money to spare a budget) and think how can I do that when we can afford ramen and peanut butter.
But the thing about being done is that the world keeps turning. And before you know it the panic you felt isn't quite as urgent. The facts you can deal with change from new knowledge to acknowledged facts. And your responsibilities remind you that you keep going - whether it be a swift kick in the ribs from a little Zy or a group of Sunday School kids needing a program run. And so you take a day or two or a few and dissappear and then you come out of your shell and start again.
And maybe you are more than a little embarrassed for the dissappearing act and the drama you caused, but you can't promise it won't happen again. Just maybe not today.
And you drink your water, and you do the best you can, and you choose to trust your doctor's opinion because she actually has a degree - not to mention she had preeclampsia with all 3 of her pregnancies. And you put your feet up to stop the swelling, and buy a pair of ugly expensive shoes on credit for the sole reason that you need something to wear during the day. And you push forward.
And you think that you are a day away from 32 weeks, and you savor your son's squirms and kicks and hope everything holds out long enough for you to be ready, but even if you aren't you know you'll just be as ready as you can in any given moment.
And you discover that DONE, isn't fully done, it is just a rest, a pause, a moment.
And you start again.
P.S. I need to stop blog-hopping for fun. I inevitably find all of these blogs where babies have died - cord accidents, unexplained stillbirth, etc, etc. And I get sucked in because I'm that type of person, and then i just WORRY. Do I feel him move enough? Is everything OK? Ugh. Can I just stop my brain please?