Well it’s not early in the morning before everyone else has risen, but I’m still here, turning up at the page, typing in letters.
It’s day 30 so my contract comes due. Here’s the first thing I’m going to commit to – writing at the weekend mornings, writing every day even when I’ve got appointments and early commitments because I’m not a fan of the patchiness that crept in while inching my way to 30 days.
I had better intentions about early rising this morning, but the night – as usual – was disturbed. It’s not just the kids to blame, in fact last night they weren’t even the main factor. My insides hurt. It feels like there’s pain behind my bump if that makes any kind of sense. Twin 2 is just about recovered from his vomiting bug and there’s every chance I’m kind of hanging onto it at a lower intensity but for longer. This time last week I had similar symptoms going on and a midwife advised that having a bug could be irritating the uterus.
I think it’s maybe to do with my dietary changes since the diagnosis of gestational diabetes. The past week has been pretty messed up eating-wise; I haven’t stuck to the “proper” schedule and I’m feeling hungry and uncomfortable much of the time.
I’m genuinely sick of all this constant worry and thinking things through and decision-making. I want to just feel okay about how I’m feeling. I mean mentally, like. Whenever something odd-feeling crops up, I start to panic internally and then I have to talk myself down which takes up so much mental energy I don’t feel like I’ve much left over to deal with much else that’s going on in life.
Like, right at the moment I’m not feeling Bubble moving. She usually kicks around when I’m eating breakfast and sitting down for a cup of tea in the morning. But I’m trying not to panic about it, because I can’t pause in every action I take throughout the day to listen in to her heart or lie on my side and drink cold water and wait for two hours to count kicks. But then again, because of the odd pains I’ve been having in my abdomen, I’ve got a worry that my placenta has detached or something ridiculous like that and by not panicking and acting, I’m missing out on the opportunity to save her.
So, I’ve got those thoughts near constantly cycling in the back of my mind, and a brief spell of movement will only quell them for a short while before they’ll revisit. It puts me on high alert for the whole day and everything is under a vague red shroud of panic and fear, even when I’m doing my very best to act normal externally.
There’s no point in really talking about it either as there’s nothing anyone can actually say that will shut up that voice – nothing that I’m not already doing for myself, at least. But it’s exhausting to be constantly fighting these kinds of battles. And there are three months more to go. Then I’ll just have about another year of panicked high-alert living to go through, right?
I’d forgotten how intense the worry was in the early days. I mean, I worry about the boys and feel guardianship of them, but as they’ve grown I’ve been able to disentangle my own feelings of responsibility from their immediate well-being. I no longer have to check on their breathing 5 – 10 times a night. I’d even managed to forget that I used to do that!
I think it’s a positive sign though that I have been able to pull back from them as time has passed. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to deal with having a parent who was so obviously anxious about your well-being all the time. I will probably always worry about them, but the key will be to not put that on them.
Bubble just kicked and I find I’m nearly crying with relief. Not okay this morning, guys! Not okay. And I’m taking it out on those around me; if anyone comes near me with questions and queries and small-time demands for attention, I’m irritable. Don’t they know I’m holding the world together with my mind?! Don’t they know I don’t have time to deal with their pancake issues and blanket issues?! If I rest my attention for even a few minutes, it could all fall apart!
I hate feeling so out of control.