One busy weekend down, who knows how many more to go. January promises to be action-packed, in general, but for now I can only focus on one week at a time. I've got plans and preparations to begin, starting tomorrow, for next weekend, and mid-week, that fantastically exciting third trimester moment: the one-hour glucose test. Thankfully, I don't have to worry much about the process, itself; while I don't particularly enjoy the taste of the drink, not being a fan of orange soda to begin with, I've never had a problem getting or keeping it down. I can't help but get a little nervous waiting for the results, though, despite the fact that they've been perfectly good ones the two times I've done this before.
This also marks the start of bi-weekly OB appointments, rather than the monthly visits I've had up to this point. It's a strange dichotomy: the slowing of time as the days get more difficult, uncomfortable, and therefore, seemingly longer, and the sensation, based on the frequency with which I'll begin to see my good friend Dr. K, that things are, indeed, picking up in pace. Of course, time itself seems to work that way. I know from experience now that it's going to feel like forever while I'm in the middle of it, and seem like it passed in the blink of an eye when all is said and done.
In the meantime, I'm tragically failing in my attempt to handle all of this with courage and grace. In fact, I'm barely handling it at all. I've come to the realization this week that I've become a Big 'Ole Meanie. I'd like to blame that on the stress of the Christmas season, but even if that's true in part, there are newer, bigger stresses to come, and I've got to figure out how to deal with them, too, or I'm going to see no improvement.
It's a strange thing, how differently pregnancy can affect you each time. With Abby, I was happy- so much happier than I'd been in a long time. I felt lighthearted and free (when I wasn't feeling sick, sore or sleep-deprived, that is). With Michael, I was oversensitive and weepy. And that's how I started out with you, as well. But the weepiness has turned to irritableness, and I seem to be snapping at everyone and everything. It appears that this time around, the applicable trait is mean.
That makes me sad. I hate being mean. I hate being irritable. I hate that everything seems to annoy me. I know that a lot of this is circumstantial. After all, through much of Abby's pregnancy I was newly-married, and still honeymooning; drunk on the novelty of a brand-new kind of life and finally getting to be a Mrs. With Michael, I was initially so excited to be pregnant again, but rest was harder to come by, and as time went on I became increasingly more terrified of the prospect of becoming a mom of two. This time? I have a lot of the same fears; only magnified in the sense that three seems different, since the children will soon outnumber the parents, and yet dulled to the degree that I've lived being a mom of more than one, and it wasn't so scary after all. However, I'm twice as exhausted this time, and I'm constantly dealing with the difficulties of not one, but two different stages of baby/toddlerhood. I would hope that it gets easier from here on out, but I think I've been a mom long enough to learn that it mostly just gets different.
I pray that somehow, someway, I can turn this emerging monster side of me into a transitional phase instead. Maybe someday I could then look back and remark that I managed to incorporate all three mood transformations into one pregnancy: going from weepy, to meanie, to happy. If I could cross the finish line happy... that would be quite something, now wouldn't it?