Unravelling Like a $2 Sweater

He isn't listening, and instead of getting his shirt on he climbs from the chair to the couch and stands behind me. He leans on my back with his arms around my neck and tells me he wants to play horsie.

Mommy can't play horsie right now, sweetie. That's a game for Daddy or Grandma.

But he WANTS to. His arms tighten and I trundle up off the couch. As he whines, I feel the tears start to come.

Sam, I can't right now, you know that. Can you please get your shirt on?

More whining and I leave him to watch Max & Ruby. I feel myself unravelling. It's not the beginning and it's been going on for days. Maybe even longer, it's hard to say. I sit in the living room, thankful the TV has his attention for the moment as I root for a tissue and hold my head in my hands.

I don't like to cry in front of him. It makes me feel like a terrible mother.

I feel like I am failing right now, failing at almost everything. I walk into my house and it's a mess. But I can't seem to find the strength, mental or physical, to fix it. I am not a good mother right now - my temper is short and my frustration level is high. When he doesn't listen, instead of the patience I can normally provide, I feel overwhelmed and tears fill my eyes. It is completely ridiculous. It could be something as simple as me asking him to come get his pants on and him not replying. And once I get started? It's so hard to stop. The tears flow so easily, so steadily. Sometimes they are quiet. Sometimes, if I feel like it's safe and I won't have to explain myself, if I'm alone, they turn louder and I sob.

I know that he can sense change, he can sense that I'm not normal, and it just makes him want to be close to me even more. But my body is already not my own, and sometimes I just want him to give me a little space.

I am not a good wife right now either. My temper is not only short with Sam, but with Justin too. I tell him I need more help. But what I really need is for him to take over. Maybe that's not fair, and I get that. But I can't bend over. I desperately want to move things, to clean, and I'm not physically capable. It's beyond frustrating.

I pride myself on organization, on tidiness. Last week I cancelled the playdate scheduled at my house because I knew I just couldn't get it clean in time. This weekend, I am supposed to have people over on Saturday AND Sunday and I am not sure how to get ready in time.

I am in control of nothing.

Mentally, I can see logic, but it doesn't stop me from feeling overwhelmed. I curl up like a child and cry, and on top of everything else I feel selfish and unreasonable.

What do I have to be so sad about, really? Life is good. We'll meet our baby soon and we have a great new job and spring is here, it's sunny and nice. When I walk outside, it's to the scent of freshly cut grass. I am in good health. I am loved so much by so many people. My pregnancy is going well, my baby is going to be here soon. So light, and yet I feel dark and heavy.

Physically, my body is not my own. Hormones course through my veins and I have no power to stop how they make me feel, when they make me feel it.

My stomach is huge and uncomfortable. Walking is no longer just something I do, it's a conscious act. I've gained 7 pounds in 3.5 weeks and sometimes when the baby moves, I have to push him back to a different position because he's hurting me.

I can't sleep. I'm throwing up again, unpredictably. Friday morning, last night, and at 4 AM when I got up to go to the bathroom. My body wants food, but nothing sounds or looks appealing. I feel like I need to eat constantly, but at the same time I don't feel like eating. There seems little reason to what will improve my stomach, and what will make me sick.

My to-do list is a mile long. Things that used to be easy, like picking up the living room, are daunting to me now. I have not done a good job of teaching Sam to pick up after himself, but I don't have the patience to start right now. I can't bend over and pluck up the dirty clothes or toys. I almost can't reach the bottom of the washer and the back of the drier. I can't carry more than a couple of pounds, so there are things that need to take out to the garage that just sit. I can no longer carry anything up the stairs - it's hard enough just to carry myself up.

I can ignore it all for a while. Getting caught up in Google Reader, or taking Sam down to the bus stop and playing for a few minutes in the driveway. But it catches me again, when Justin calls to say Hi and I tell him that I had a bad morning, it all just rushes back and I find myself in tears again. When I call my Mom to check in about our book club meeting and she asks how I am.

I hate writing about it. I hate that it is how it is. I feel like a big jerk baby, and I don't want to spread my negativity. But at the same time, how do I write about anything else right now? There are 10 posts in my draft folder I'd rather be finishing, but I just can't do it right now.

I can't wait to meet my baby, but at the same time I am scared. I would be stupid not to be, really. Two kids instead of one. Not knowing how Sam will react. Not knowing how I'll do since Justin won't be home like he was last time. Maybe it will be easy. We'll make the adjustment, and we'll be a family of four. We have other help, my Mom and her husband especially, and my Mother-in-law Deanna and her husband. They will help with Sam. Mom will take time off work. Deanna wil take Sam to her place for a visit. We will be okay. It's just hard to see it sometimes.

Now I sit on the couch wondering what to do next. It's been hours since I started writing this. It's come a little at a time, any more and I can't hold back the tears. The baby is pressing on my bladder and at the same time my ribs. I am hungry and not sure what to eat. I have an hour and a half before Sam gets home and there is so much to be done, but I really just want to take a nap.

I almost don't want to hit publish. What's the point? I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I don't want people to think that I think I have a terrible life. I have no idea what I want. This isn't even good writing. It's disjointed - how could it not be? This is just me. Right now.