This is my last pregnancy. I’ve known that for most of the pregnancy. My father-in-law is aghast at this, because “You’re so young!” but, for us, it makes sense. 


It’s All Over

It’s all over.

Well, grad school anyhow.

I’m waiting on one grade, then I can really breathe a sigh of relief.

At this, point, I’m somehow both relieved and exhausted. I’ve gone to bed around 8 the past two nights. I can’t make myself do grading.

And as much as I want to say that I’m going to have a relaxing next sixish weeks (until my due date!) We have so much to do: baby clothes washing, cleaning carpets, deep-cleaning the house, packing hospital bags, packing the diaper bag, SO MUCH STUFF!

And…I’m pretty sure I started having contractions yesterday. Which is pretty on-par with my first pregnancy. I started having contractions, dilating, and effacing at 34.5 weeks…soooo. We just started half a week early this time?

Hospital bags are now a priority.

I wish that I could turn the energy that I expended on grad school toward all the other stuff that needs done, but fuck. I just can’t.

I want to sleep for the next….year? And, yes, the irony of saying that with a baby on the way isn’t lost on me. I’m just fucking drained, man.

But…either way. I’m done with grad school. Done. I will never be a college student of any kind again.

It is a relief.

And. Baby Boy 2 will be here before we know it.

My life looks pretty good right now.

Boy Mom

Barring a miracle, after June, there will be no more babies coming out of this uterus. 



I’m exhausted today.

That’s probably an understatement.

I’m drained. Physically and emotionally worn out.

I wish I knew how to explain it a little more definitely, but all I have is exhaustion.

The last few weeks have been emotionally tolling: I found out I was pregnant almost five weeks ago, and with that comes the normal run of emotions. We told my parents and my mom, who I love deeply and consider one of my closest confidants, was…less than thrilled. Actually she wasn’t even remotely thrilled. In her defense, she’s worried about me, my anxiety and depression, and a pregnancy. Additionally, when I was pregnant with my monster, the end was…tumultuous to say the least: I went into labor at 34 1/2 weeks, developed “the worst case of Pupps” my doctor had ever seen, and was finally induced at 39 weeks, soo, ya know.

Plus, I’m still a grad school student. So, add that stress to my family struggles and stress–which are complicated because of the emotions on both sides and because I do understand where my mom is coming from–and you get emotionally closed off, actually.

And now, my husband is putting in a shitton of hours at work, more than his normal manager hours usually entail: weekends, always taking work calls at home. And I feel lonely, and like I’m doing this alone, which isn’t fair to him, but is also honest.

So. Emotionally, it’s all exhausting as fuck. But, physically, to quote Ali Wong, I’m growing an eyeball here!

And my kids. And school. And everything needs my attention and I don’t want to give anything  my attention. I just want to curl into a ball in my bed for the next month and a half and watch Queer Eye.

And it’s not an option, I have to persevere. I have to be strong for my students. For my husband and son. For my parents, especially because I don’t want to hear the “I told you you should have waited…” from my mom. For my coworkers, because they don’t need to pick up my slack.

But. I don’t want to be strong for anyone. And all I feel like I’m doing is closing off to everyone.

Ups and Downs. Downs and Downs…?

I know I briefly mentioned a couple of posts ago that my hubby and I were thinking about baby number two. I’ve been off birth control since August…and decreasing my med doses so that when/if I get pregnant I can go off my meds without a major side effect.

But…lately…I feel like my life is a major side effect. One, I had a yeast infection from hell that I’m still recovering from. Two. My depression is at an all time high. Like yesterday, I went home and was laid down on my couch by six (I got home at five-thirty) and was in bed by 7:30. I have no energy, no ambition. I think about cutting and dying on a far-too-often lately.

Part of me thinks I need to adjust my meds, part of me thinks I need to go to counseling more often. And part of me is terrified that G is it. That having another baby is too much, that going off meds, or lowering meds, to get pregnant is too much and my doctor and therapist are going to tell me to go back on, up my dose, change my meds.

I don’t want to be done having kids. I also don’t want to be miserable in the process of getting pregnant. I don’t know.

I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.