I don't want to complain, but I'll merely state the fact that I am really tired. I knew this kind of jarring pregnancy fatigue was coming and I really enjoyed the surge of pregnancy energy (voracious hunger and all) in anticipation of the impending exhaustion so I don't know why I'm so surprised.
I really wish I had the fortitude of a saint. Instead, I've been moving one step forward and two steps back in the housework, personal appearance, and patience realms. OK and blogging. How to kill a blog 101? Be 30 weeks pregnant.
Housework: I'm in a constant war with Rad's breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack, dessert, snack leftovers strewn about the house. I am always armed with a broom and baby wipes.
Personal appearance: While I was filling out paperwork at a recent appointment, I was asked if I worked outside the home with a tone that makes me fairly certain the kind woman had already clicked, "No!!!!' using my outfit (stretchy pants, oversized T-shirt and one faux diamond in left ear) and mom expression (perma-raised eyebrows indicating heightened hearing for signs of boys running away) as telling indicators.
Patience: The boys are put in their timeout spots more frequently every day for bopping each other over the head and not sharing.
This last one- sharing. Mother of all bleeping frustrations. It seems that the offspring will never carpe the concept of taking turns. Whatever Rhett has, Rad wants. Whatever I have, they both must indulge in.
For example, a snippet from earlier in the week...
Julia: Rhett, you need to learn to share with Rad.
Julia exits the room
Rhett: Rad, you need to learn to share with ME.
And a could be snippet if Rad's vernacular ever expands....
Julia: Rad, you have to share with Rhett.
Rad: But I just want to share with me.
My current state of exhaustion seems to limit my make-good-moral-choices lectures and lessons to 3 a day, so once I've maxed those out I am very likely to do just about anything to keep the peace. Like buy 2 of the same item just so they each have one...
(...before you roll your eyes at my pathetic desperation please know that some of those materialistic bribes were worth every penny for the peace that they restored. I might just cry tears of sheer happiness after I do a jig in the street when we get that peace.)
No! No! No!
This is the post apocalyptical variety of not sharing victory dance. Al la Rad.