Sleep: a prospect that is becoming lost to me. I really shouldn't be complaining, because my kids do sleep better than most... but the combination of occasional teething sessions and my own personal "pregnant aversion" to rest is starting to catch up with me. The sad part is that it doesn't matter if I am falling asleep in my chair, the second I lay on my pillow I am uncomfortable and spend my time tossing and turning rather than sleeping as I so desire. So this morning, after a week of being unable to do so, I donned my neglected runners and stepped outside at the unearthly hour of 6am for my traditional morning walk. Has anyone noticed it is FREEZING out there????? The neighbourhood was covered in frost, the wind was biting and cold, and despite a hat and a hood over it, I shivered the whole time. I'll even admit to jogging, well attempting to. I realized pretty quickly that that would not be an option in my "advanced state of chub". However, instead of renewing my energy as usual, I came back so tired I could hardly walk. Even as I sit and type, my eyes feel like lead and I have an overwhelming desire to put myself out of my misery and succumb. But do I dare gamble with my night tonight? At this rate I should sleep like a baby, but if I have a nap I will most likely find myself in the same situation as nights gone by and the downward spiral will yet again continue.
So I battle with myself, trying to survive not until bedtime, but simply to naptime when my gears can stop if they so desire, and I can rest. And at the same time as I wish and hope and dream of my warm, cozy bed... I drink a gallon of coffee waiting for its reviving effects to take hold of me. Hmmmm, so far nothing on that front. The worst part is that if I don't do something, I will find myself sitting in a pew at church with a bobbing head of exhaustion. Something must be done.
As for our little family, Jonathan is finally home and the difference is astounding. Yesterday we went to the wildlife park again and instead of meltdowns, my kids were running in a state of pure joy from animal to animal. Unrestricted by strollers and a frazzled mama, Jonathan took one child while I focused my attentions on another and we simply let them be. By the end of the day the long-anticipated meltdowns began, but even those were manageable with daddy's "look" they calmed down much quicker than with mine. And I found myself in awe that I could leave my home and not come back in a state of defeat. For a moment, I struggled with self-pity. Wishing for what could not be: that my husband could be home more and we could just do this everyday. But I was quickly placated with the fond remembrance that with baby number three comes change. Another diaper to deal with, another mouth to feed, another scream to tolerate... and yet it also brings my dear partner in this crazed life home to us for three months of paternity leave. And I am content. Content to wait the 8 weeks before the chaos grows greater, and yet content to see that day come and be together as a family.
My emotions vacillate with each passing minute, so perhaps tomorrow I will be anxious or even impatient. But for now, I drink my coffee, put my feet up, and rest in the knowledge that this is a season. And "it too shall pass".
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