He looked at my somewhat suspiciously. I must have had the same look that I get when I tell him we should go on a last minute trip to the city or I would like to start repainting the house. "What?"
"Oh my gosh. I know what's wrong with me!"
For several weeks, I just haven't felt like myself. Yeah, yeah, I know that I'm now 31 weeks pregnant. having your feet swell up, loosing the ability to pick things off the ground, and needing to sleep with three pillows under the mattress to combat the heartburn can have a way of making a person not feel like themselves. But that isn't what I mean.
I've been much more tired that usual, more tired that I can simply explain away with baby growing. I've been whiny, short tempered, easily distracted, having a hard time sleeping. I haven't felt like myself. But I was only semi-aware of it and hadn't given it much thought, other than to think that the change of seasons might not be agreeing with me.
"What do you mean: what's wrong with you?" Hubster is waiting for a medical diagnosis, like the time I was convinced I had a brain tumor in medical school.
"I'm stressed!" I piped, almost cheerful that I have arrived at an explanation for my poor behavior.
Hubster puts down his fork and stares at me. "I know. Seriously? You didn't think about this before?" He laughs at me and keeps eating his tortellini.
Lately, I may have bitten off more that I can chew.
First off, I decided that the best thing I could do would be to get all my hospital calls done for Duck arrives at the end of November. Granted, I can't get them all done, since I still have a month of ICU, a set of nights, and an OB shift that has to be done in the spring. But other than that, I was determined to get as much call as I could out of the way. Easier to take call pregnant than with a new baby at home, was my thinking. I aggressively traded with my fellow residents, front loading my schedule as much as I could.
The end result: I have worked 8 out of the last 9 weekends, and am still scheduled to work 5 out of the next 6. And while I still think that taking my call pre-baby is a good thing, I think I failed to recognize how hard it would be. I've been physically and mentally run down, and not having weekends to recoup from difficult work weeks.
I've also taken on a lot of baby related projects: painting the nursery, making a quilt, sorting through boxes of 6 year old baby supplies, finding a home for everything that used to reside in the now nursery. Granted, no one is forcing me to hand paint trees on the nursery wall. No one is forcing me to cut dozens of green, blue, and orange quilt squares. Hubster thought the plain blue walls would be fine. My mother said it would be perfectly acceptable to forgo the handmade baby quilt this time around. But I would have none of it. To not finish would be to admit defeat, and that will not happen.
I've also be reorganizing almost the entire house. Maybe it's nesting, maybe it's just neurosis. But I feel like I can't walk by a closet without yanking the door open and starting to sort through everything. My bedroom is now full of boxes needing to go to Goodwill.
And let's not mention the fact the Hubster and I have started to remodel the basement. Since our office/guest room is now a nursery, we need somewhere for all our books and somewhere for the occasional guest to stay. So naturally, we turned to the unfinished basement. We have drawn plans, called for plumbing and electrical quotes, bought piles of lumber (with the intention of
I'm half way through my permanent licensing paperwork.
I'm attempting to study for my licensing boards.
I'm still trying to keep on top of the laundry/meal preparation/housework/personal hygiene.
So I guess I've been a little busy.
I just honestly didn't realize until a few days ago that I was stressed about being so busy.
I have great plans that this next month I'm going to take some time for myself, get a massage, get a pedicure, get my wayward hair cut.
Right after I finish packing a hospital bag, buying the remainder of baby essentials, and repainting the master bedroom.