So tired. So much to do. Thirty-six weeks down. Baby room is ready. Our room is ready. We are ready. Just so damn tired to try and enjoy the anticipation.
For the past few nights, Olive has been experiencing “night terrors.” Yeah. Every hour. Monday/Tuesday, I snagged maybe 3 hours of sleep after tending to her, soothing her, letting her crawl all over me to get comfortable after realizing that one of us would have to go to her room all night.
It’s possible she’s over tired. Or, it’s possible she’s having a mental growth spurt. Or, it’s possible she’s somehow wigging out about a new baby. A baby that will be here in a few weeks. (Side note: I think all of us are wigging out a little about that)
Let’s toss an angsty surly teenager in the mix, who not only wasn’t looking to be a big brother the first time, but is even more sure he doesn’t want to be a big brother a second time.
And hey, there’s the other house that hasn’t sold yet.
And my career conundrum. (Lack of a career?)
I’ve been trying to be mindful. To reflect and relax. I’ve been woefully unsuccessful thus far. Some of the people I work with have noticed I’m raggedly exhausted – one of them spent 15 minutes grilling me as to why I didn’t leave early more often. Mostly because I don’t want to burn through my vacation before baby. And mostly because I know I won’t really rest given two hours on my own. *sigh*
Plus, how ridiculous is paid parental leave in the States! I’m “lucky” to have FMLA and STDL cover me for 12 weeks, but it’s not really enough. (Really, those two are more for illnesses, not BIRTH, people!) Paul can take 10 days family leave due to his unique military work status. #ijustdontgetit Aren’t we supposed to be progressive
There. I have ranted. Time to get my meditation on and send happy thoughts to Tater.