Oh Matchbox 20...
I'm frustrating as all hell. I just want to sleeeeeeep.
But, the light is near the end of the tunnel - sorta.
Tomorrow is my last day of work for the year. I have been reduced to doing pretty much nothing for the last while here. And while that is a lot of peoples dream jobs, it's frustrating for me. There are only so many things that you can google, look up, and research online before these 8 hour study periods want to make you slit your throat. I need to be kept busy. Stimulated. I was already finding my job starting to lack that challenge as of late, and then after training my replacement, it really sunk in.
I'm also having a really hard time taking Mat leave. I realize I have a ton of stuff to do around the house. Cleaning, organizing, purging and putting back together. (The nesting instinct can be a bitch.) The yard can keep me busy for 2-3 evenings a week alone and the house with Wyatt the Wonder Dog's black dog hair every where could keep me going morning, noon and night with the Bissell.
Here's the thing. I've ALWAYS balanced work with home life. Whether it was the 14 year old Jess that got a job as a Courtesy Clerk at Superstore who balanced school, my hobbies and work, the 18 year old Jess that balanced being a Cashier and full time college student among family, house and hobbies or 23 year old Jess that worked a full time and part time job to cover my living expenses and made time for friends. The common denominator is that for the past 11 years, I've worked. Which is a lot considering I'm 25. So I haven't even left the building yet and I'm starting to feel guilty. Guilty for not contributing to Cal and I's house and life financially. Guilty that I will have the luxury of being kept up until 4 am and then sleep in until 10 am if I wanted/could (well, for now). Guilty that it will take a month before my EI Mat leave kicks in. Just guilty.
A friend at work explained it to me in a way that made me feel better for all of three seconds. But, it was three seconds of a comforting ah-ha moment that makes its guest appearance in my train of thought from time to time. These next few weeks (and really, it could be 1 week or 5 - no one knooooows the time the Gremlin comes marching out) is the last time that I will be able to be home by myself (or with Cal) without children for the next 20 years (assuming professional stay at home son or daughter isn't the aspired career choice here with my child). The last time that if I want to watch a cake decorating show and not Dora and fellow immigrants, I can. Last time I can be laying down and get the urge to go the store 'real quick' and not have to pack a diaper bag, a stroller, car seat, bottles etc. and turn it into a 2 hour production. The last time that I really get to hold on to a sense of who I am and do what I like for the next however many years. The last time for a lot of things. And I should enjoy it. And not feel guilty for taking this 'me' time. So I'm going to try. But it'll be tough. I'm a masochist at heart.
People say that pregnancy brings out the emotional side to everyone. I like to call those people wrong. And I'm sooooo tired of hearing it as an excuse used by others that are knocked up or even better, an excuse for me when I have any reaction to anything (working with a bunch of men, they jump to conclusions). Yes, yes; there are moments that I do find tears in my eyes that normally wouldn't be there. And usually over stupid stuff that is isolated - and mostly to do with what is on TV. But the wailing around, sniffing crying for no reason - nope. If I cry like that, I have a damn good reason - pregnant or not. There is a Pamper's commercial for instance, that upon hearing the music they use in the background I feel that sting to my eyes. Seeing somebody (particularly children) hurt on TV upsets me. Having a stupid argument with Cal will open the water works sometimes but not to the extreme where I'm inconsolable and lacking any control on rational thinking. And I usually walk away before it gets to that point anyways. It does put me in a grumpy mood some mornings (usually after sleepless nights). But really, I'm 8 months up the pole - somethings bound to give. If I wasn't pregnant, they'd be blaming it on PMS. Go figure.
I'm getting tired of being pregnant. I'm getting tired of the responsibility of growing a life inside of me. It was the Stanley Cup final yesterday. Game 7. Series tied. My favored team playing away from their home ice. Where was my beer and clam? Oh yeah. In the fridge. Where I can just look at it. And it sounds selfish, but I've been pretty close to the definition of selfLESS for 8 months. I just want my damn beer. I want a juicy medium rare steak with a glass of red wine. SUSHI! I want SUSHI! I miss hot tubs, super hot baths. I miss my old energy. I miss my sleep. I miss my low rider button up jeans. I miss my t-shirts being long enough to wear without Macgyvering them with tube tops as undershirts that start underneath my boobs just to give me an extra couple inches to cover my tummy so it's not hanging out for the world to see. I'm sick of being told that I look small for being 36 weeks... which in turn, makes me worry. I'm actually sick of worrying about everything. Is baby alright? Normal? Is that twinge of pain I just felt normal? Is it normal that my feet are as swollen as they are the end of the day? At least when baby is out in the open, you can physically see if something is wrong for the most part. Now, when baby is 7 leagues under the sea, I can't see him/her. I don't know. I've never been pregnant before and it's scary as hell when I'm alone sometimes and all I need to do is talk to someone but most normal people are asleep at 3 am. They don't need to have answers. Just listen. Sometimes I wish it was Cal that would, other times my Mom, and then there are times I'd settle for a bum off the street. I'd even make him a sandwhich.
Googling anything while pregnant is like playing Russian Roulette. Sometimes the information is benign and practical. Other times, I'm one step away from finding a corner of a dark room to rock back and forth in while chanting "I'm a horrible mother" on repeat. And then there are the hippies. Every ones inner hippy comes out to some degree while pregnant. "The perfect breakfast for a pregnant woman is plain Greek organic yogurt with organic low fat granola mixed in with organic berries". Bite me. Corn pops it is because that is what I have in cupboard and it sounds delicious. "You should stay away from sugars and carbohydrates". If I want a cherry danish, I'm having it. I won't have 12 of them. 1 is suffice. And there are really little comforts to all of this and if I find it at that moment in cherry danish, then I'm eating it. And don't try to make me feel bad about it hippies.
Life, Love and all these other mysteries.
I am so ready to peek at the back of the book for the answers, like Grade 9 Math and be done with it.
Love,
~J
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