But I am just so tired. I was supposed to write two articles yesterday and I just could not for the life of me do it. Now today is almost over and I still haven’t. I shouldn’t be writing this, I should be writing that.
I am so bewildered by the tiredness. And I have the luxury of working from home, so the little work I have managed to get done, I’ve been able to do with my feet up and catnaps. My friend who is in an office every day and who is coming up to 11 weeks pregnant gave up the ghost this week and went home to bed early for the holidays. Lots of women don’t have either of those luxuries.
The tiredness is epic. It’s all-consuming. It leaves me limp, like a Victorian woman in a fainting spell. I am also moody, cranky, emotional – whatever you want to call it. Poor Rufus, after being turned down for sex yet again today, said I must be sexually blocked. I was really hurt. And then I was just pissed off.
I AM blocked, but more in a constipation kind of way.
“If you had enormous sore boobs and a cork up your bum for five days, you wouldn’t feel sexy either!” I blurted out at him.
He laughed and we made up. I know it’s hard for him, and the truth is he’s amazingly patient and loving. Last night I decided to walk to the shops by myself – or I thought I did, until I turned around and there he was, catching me up, just to keep me company.
During all of our efforts to get pregnant, all of the conversations in my head and deals with the universe involved not complaining during pregnancy, whatever may come. I would be thrilled to have morning sickness, I would weather having a huge belly and all the complaints you read about, I told myself.
And here I am, only eight weeks in, and whingeing about the tiredness. But it is what it is, as my old boss used to say.
I’m pregnant now, hopefully it will stick, and it’s going to be a journey. I am so happy to be making this journey, but sometimes I’m going to need a little reassurance and companionship and advice along the way.