What is the cosmic logic of this? I get pregnant, and I do this with great faith and high hopes; I also have a pretty good idea what I am getting into, both in terms of what happens to me pregnancy-wise, and what life with a newborn is like. I know that these times and sensations too, will pass. I know also, beyond any question, that this is my last baby... so I might as well find any enjoyment and just roll with it.
The fatigue and general malaise of pregnancy combine against me and my ever more pathetic attempts to keep this house and family in working order. The forgetfulness of my overloaded brain drags us further into chaos. The hormones push me closer to the edge in terms of sanity, already an unsteady balance as the mother of three young girls. Everything combines to inform my super-sensitive and increasingly EPIC self, that I am a crappy mother and wife (indeed, human being) who has no business having another child. WHY IS THIS!?
And I know from experience that this is just part of the territory for me. I know that literally one half of an hour after giving birth that the hormones poisoning my blood and body will recede, and I will be astounded at how AWESOME I feel. I will raise my hands above my head and not feel as though I am lifting an extra twenty pounds per arm. I will stand up and hobble my stretched, stitched, bleeding and ice packed posterior over to use the bathroom, tears of joy streaming down my face because this is the BEST that I have felt in nine months. And even as I am slogging through those first sleep-deprived months of ups and downs.... Dude. I am not pregnant anymore!
But here I am. Carrying a basket load of clothes upstairs leaves me breathless and a little faint. The disobedience (a.k.a. normal behavior) of my two year old renders me tearfully frustrated. One single comment from Dadguy breaks my heart, and leaves me sobbing even though I KNOW that he did not mean it THAT way. I cannot seem to force myself to get the dishes washed in any sort of timely fashion, the whole while berating myself for my sloth. They have to get washed, I will wash them, but why or why do I have to turn it into torture?
Again. The world's worst mother, wife and person is busy building a human body here! Aren't you glad I am procreating? Isn't it thrilling?
... and I know better than ALL of this, but it doesn't make it go away.