Thursday, November 8, 2012

It's a Glamorous Life

I'm at the point in my pregnancy where I choose not to blog a lot because all I really want to do is complain and whine and bellyache.  And you don't want to hear that.  And I don't want to do it.  I'm healthy.  Everything is going smoothly.  I have no right to complain.

And yet, I know I'll look back on this time in my life and wonder how the heck I got through it.

Brian says I need a nanny.  I say I need a clone.  A nanny is great when I need to leave the house by myself but I'm not the kind of person who relaxes when there are other people in my home, even when they are there to help.  I want things done a certain way and when they aren't, I get more stressed than I would have without the help.  And besides that, I can't seem to ever shake the need to entertain someone who is here outside of our family.  I'm constantly wondering how they are doing.  Are they hungry?  Thirsty?  Bored?  Annoyed?

You see?  It kind of defeats the purpose of hiring help.

It could be argued that I have issues with control and letting people help me.

But carrying on as if I'm not pregnant, as if I don't also have a one-year-old and a three-year-old and a six-year-old, well, it's taking its toll.

The thing tormenting me the most these last couple of days are my children's bathroom troubles.  (And I realize this might be the point where you would take me complaining about my pregnancy over the topic I'm about to dive into.  If so, feel free to stop reading now.)

The kindergartner forgets to go to the bathroom enough at school and comes home hopping like he's got ants in his pants.  He almost never makes it to the bathroom in time to avoid his uniform needing a good wash.

And the three-year-old, whose total number of accidents since she has been potty-trained can be counted on one hand, has now decided that she too would like to wait until the last possible second to go the bathroom.  And if she's wearing tights or leggings or some other piece of clothing that takes a couple of extra yanks to pull down, forget it.  It's already all over the floor.

That brings us to the one-year-old.  The one who has it coming out the sides and up her back and in all sorts of glorious crevices you didn't know existed.

Clean-up is a constant around here.

Yesterday was not a great day.  In general I was just feeling overwhelmed.  I made homemade tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches and the kids loved it.  So there was that glimmer of happiness.  But I went to bed with raging heartburn, a condition I only experience during pregnancy, and a general attitude of just not feeling good about myself.

This morning I had to get ready for a prenatal appointment and after the big kids were off to school I decided I was going to turn my 'tude around.  And I did it by curling my hair, spending a little more time on my make-up and wearing my fancy tall black boots.  My midwife would never notice the difference but I sure would.  When I was all ready I looked at the clock and realized I was going to be early for my appointment.  Total score!  I was rocking it!

I grabbed Katherine to walk out the door and decided to check her diaper before I left.  Uh-huh.  You see where this is going.  We're back to that other topic.  It was so bad it was coming down her leg and I had no choice but to leave her at home to fend for herself while I took my glammed-up self to the clinic for a little me time.

What?!?!  You left her at home?!?!

Of course I didn't.  But don't you think for a second that I'm too good of a mother that the thought didn't cross my mind. 
What I meant to say was that it was so bad that I had no choice but to give her a bath.  Which of course made me late rather than early to my appointment.

To add insult to injury, I noticed, as I was leaving the house with Katherine in a new outfit, that there was a bit of poop smeared on the right knee of my leggings.  Just a subtle little reminder from the heavens that this life I lead is not a glamorous one.

But I checked out my hair in the rearview mirror as I was pulling out of the garage and it still looked amazing.  So there's that at least.

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