Pregzilla

{Courtesy of dhammza}

For the most part, I've done an excellent job in my life at not being "that girl" who becomes a raging bitch once a month and blames it on PMS. I'm not sure if I'm just lucky that I'm not someone who is really sensitive to changing hormone levels or what. The same has been true of my pregnancies. However, my streak has ended. Last night was a serious shit storm of emotion and hormones, aimed directly at my poor, unsuspecting husband.

As I've been complaining about, I've been tired, OH SO tired the last 2 weeks. I get lots of sleep and I'm still trying to be active but it's not helping. Yesterday was no exception - I was crazy tired all day and left at 5pm on the dot to go get Finn from daycare and get home. My husband had the day off and he was supposed to be writing a paper which was due that night. Also, he had to get up at 3:30 the next morning for work. So I walk in the door and immediately I'm irritated. Nothing has been done around the house. There's this printer our friend gave us (made us take) that's been sitting on the island in our kitchen since LAST THURSDAY that we don't really have a place for. I was hoping it would magically disappear since he had the entire day off and to himself at home (side note: the last time I had an entire day off and to myself? Um, the weekend before I had Finn, 2.5 years ago). But no such luck, it was sitting there. Okay, whatever. So Mike gets up and goes to the family room with Finn and plays blocks while I throw myself on the couch and start a barrage of complaints. The highlights: so much pressure! my pelvis! so tired! so emotional! Summation: poor me! Mike kisses me and hugs me and tells me I'm amazing and listens while I repeat myself and continues to give me sympathy. After a good 10 minutes of this, I haul myself off the couch and start making dinner. He keeps Finn entertained and I bring down food and we all eat on the couch together. I turn on a DVR'ed episode of a show that Mike thoroughly dislikes and he doesn't say a word. Although Mike said the pasta was yummy about 64 times, he didn't SPECIFICALLY say "thank you for making dinner" so I was PISSED. So after dinner, he says he needs to finish his paper and I'm PISSED because that means I have to do the bathtime/bedtime thing by myself and I'm PISSED that he didn't use his time of his day off better and I'm PISSED because...well, at this point, try to find anything I'm not annoyed at, that would be easier. So then, Finn goes into pushing/testing boundary mode and doesn't want to do anything I want him to do and screams when I make him. My tolerance level is at a ZERO. We get through bathtime and I did something heinous like make him put on his pajamas, and he starts screaming. Mike comes into his room and Finn starts whimpering and reaches out for him like some abused child and I stomp out of the room like a toddler. Mike sees that intervention is necessary, so he helps me read him stories and get him into bed. Afterwards, I slam my way around the kitchen and did the dishes from dinner (pissed, because what the hell, i made dinner, he should do the DAMN dishes) and put all the various shit away that was sitting around the kitchen and then stomped upstairs and was going to go to bed without saying goodnight because I WAS PISSED (is there a theme emerging here?) As I was getting into bed, I noticed Finn's milk cup and it was nearly full, so i went back downstairs to put it in the fridge and Mike asks "Baby, are you going to bed?" and I wouldn't make eye contact with him and mumbled a barely-audible "yup". I threw myself in bed and sobbed and cried and I didn't want him to come up and I'm pissed he's not coming up all at the same time. I cry for like 10 minutes and finally calm down and start going to sleep and he comes up and crawls into bed and asks me what's wrong and I'm sniffling and crying and snotty and gross and whining. I'm state my very compelling argument that "No one is taking care of meeeeeeeeeeeee, no one is spoiling meeeeeeeee". He says "Just tell me what you need, I'll do anything, I love you, you're amazing, you're beautiful," basically saying all the right things which is making me even more upset and at this point my entire head is so stuffed up that I'm making that weird nasal noise and I can't blow my nose and OMG, it was a site to see.

So now that pregzilla has emerged, can I put her back? Can I muddle through my remaining 12 weeks with some sense of decency and control? For my husband's sake, I sure hope so. And in the meantime, he may want to consider hiring a housekeeper and a nanny.