I hate writing an entry like this. I feel guilty writing an entry like this. But it's what I am feeling and it's real.
I feel overwhelmed. I am sick. Even with my Zofran and phenergan combo, I am still nauseous all day. I can only occasionally keep food down. I have lost at least five pounds, probably more. I am hungry, but nothing sounds good, even when I manage to find something that does appeal, it usually won't stay put. I am lightheaded from lack of nutrition, feel dizzy most of the time. I am keeping some fluids down, and I know that is what really matters, but it is still frustrating.
I am exhausted. I could sleep all of the time, except I can't sleep all of the time. Will needs me.
Christmas crap is everywhere in our house, well, everywhere except where it should be. The spare bedroom has a pile of gifts (though not all of the gifts we'll need, I still need to do some shopping) that need wrapping, a pile of wrapping paper and bows that need to be put on gifts. The tree is up, but the box of ornaments just sits next to it. My nativity scene is out. . . in boxes on the floor. The table I usually put it on is no longer in our house, so I don't know where to put it. I don't have the energy to unpack it all, anyway. The stockings are hung at least. But nothing is in them.
Dishes are piled in the sink. Laundry is heaped in the hamper. The two loads that I have managed to wash and fold are still sitting in piles on the kitchen table. Vacuum? What's that?
My sister-in-law (who does not know that I am pregnant as we have not told our families) is supposed to come on Tuesday. She is an immaculate housekeeper. I shudder to think of her seeing the house as it is. I shudder even more to think about finding the energy needed to clean it.
Between (trying my best to) keeping up with Will, hanging my head over a toilet, attempting (and mostly failing) to keep something down, I am falling behind on everything else. I feel overwhelmed. I feel as if I am failing Will. I lay on the playroom floor, a bucket next to my head, and listlessly help him stack blocks or push a toy car on the floor. I gag as I read his beloved stories. I feel as if I am failing M, as he warms up his fifth frozen pizza in a row and pushes through the laundry basket in desperate hope of some clean boxers. I feel as if I am failing this new baby, as my excitement for the pregnancy wars with my fears it measuring too small. I wonder how I will handle it all once the baby is here, when I can't even handle this very well right now.
I am thankful to be pregnant, and I am trying to take it one day. . . no, that's too much, one hour at at a time. I am eager for the second trimester, for the ease of mind for it will bring, for the ease of this unrelenting sickness.
In the meantime, this is tough. I am overwhelmed.