Yesterday, whether it was wedding mania or baby's growth catching up to me, I was completely exhausted before noon. All morning long the bone-weariness of pregnancy weighed me down, making movement slow and thought difficult. When I stood, I felt too tired to walk. When I sat, I felt too tired to get up. When I laid down... but I was afraid to try that, because at that point there's no return. When I had to move, I crept up the stairs like Frodo climbing Mount Doom, bowed almost double from burdens and fatigue. It was bad.
So all afternoon the kids binged on episodes of Phineas and Ferb and Hole in the Wall and ate cold hot dogs and chips and kept the three-year-old alive while I lay half-conscious in bed and didn't even care. Not only did I not care, I was grateful for the technology that produces dumb game shows and processed meat products that don't need to be heated. But it did make me wonder about next school year. If I'm this tired at not-quite-four-months pregnant, how will it be during the school year at seven months? Eight months? Nine months? How am I going to teach these children when my head is too heavy to think? How can I run this household when I can't move?
Many plans flashed through my head, each worse than the other, but eventually I had to go with the one that made the most sense: I just went to sleep. When I woke up, I hadn't solved these problems, but Darwin was home and making dinner for everyone and the downstairs had been picked up.
So, Moral #1: don't try to make big decisions about the future while you're completely incapacitated. Moral #2: Daddy will fix everything when he comes home.
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