Being a mother of two can be very overwhelming. I know it and my #2 is still conveniently living in my belly. My first taste at this new complexity in my life as a parent is stemming from my rightfully needy 18 month old and my pregnancy blahs that make me want to just sit and sip a spiked lemonade. Olivia needs to me to have boundless energy and patience for her and sometimes this can put me in a funk. As I approach my due date my body is really hurting this time around, I feel uncomfortable and fatigued and this affects my hormones. It's all a cycle and the end result is me being eternally grateful for a mom that is so helpful because Todd is so tied up with school and work, too.
I refuse to lament myself for more than a few minutes. Those moments where I am alone in the shower, and I hear Olivia outside whining and look down at an enormous baby bulge and I wonder what the hell am I doing. I feel a desire to cry and feel sorry for myself but I can't. The tears burn behind my eyeballs but something stops me from wishing some things were different, for wishing certain people were different than they are, and yearning for flashbacks of my former life. Maybe the reason I cannot just feel sorry for myself is because I know the person I search for no longer exists, the me I am today is the only one left. This me is stronger and smarter that the one who lived for herself daily and had no one to care for.