On Saturday, I looked in the mirror and saw horrible gray stains on my teeth. I cried. Of all the parts of me that are getting stretched and otherwise mangled by pregnancy — not to mention aging — I thought I’d always have my smile.
Later that night I brushed my teeth really really hard. Now they’re fine.
I don’t recall crying on Sunday. That’s probably because I was sleeping. ALL DAY. Scott and I enjoyed a delightful half-mile walk down to the local diner for breakfast, and the slightly less delightful half-mile walk uphill on the way back. And that was it. One mile wiped me out. So I slept.
Monday morning I met with a potential pediatrician. She asked me about our plans regarding circumcision. I started to almost cry as we talked, waving my hands near my face in that way that one does (if I just get enough air, a nice breeze going, I won’t cry). She said she understood — that she cries when she talks about her kids and medical issues too.
And then I proceeded to have a long day, involving a lot of work. It’s good to have work, but still… At 8:00 p.m., I came home. I was tired. Worn out. Beat. I started to cry. Scott asked, “Why does being tired make you cry?” I wish I knew.
Even later that night, I decided I’d had it UP TO HERE with the mess of our house. The shoes, mail, packages, dishes, clothing, books, piles of papers, strewn everywhichway. We started cleaning at 9:30 p.m. I didn’t stop till midnight. Yes, cried a bit during that activity, because golly, if it isn’t just a little frustrating that the baby is taking over what used to be my office closet space (or will when he gets here), and I don’t have anywhere to put anything anymore?
No tears today. Perhaps a brief respite…
Some of this is hormones, right?
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