Pregnancy has worn me out today. Not only do I feel HUGE for 25 weeks, but the baby is sitting extremely high, so every time I bend down I get a very uncomfortable pain in my ribs, and I think the third trimester blues have hit me. (Is there such a thing? I just made that up).
I do hate to complain, especially as I have a friend, well lets call her an acquaintance, who is also pregnant, just a few weeks in front of me, and she cannot wait for someone to ask how she is so she can have a good old moan. That is fine once in a while, but after 7 months of this, we are all a little tired of hearing about it, and regrettably usually find a place to hid when we see her coming. (I can say these things, I'm pregnant and am fighting raging hormones).
So, let me get this out of the way, I am thrilled to be pregnant, love feeling my baby kick, and cannot wait to meet my little man. But I think after 25 weeks of no complaints despite hideous morning sickness, and one man telling me I had the chubby cheeks of a baby (what the hell was he thinking) I can complain a little. Tonight my hormones took over and dinner ended with me sitting in my room sobbing.
As you may know I have to little ones (6 and 4) and every night (and lunch for that matter) is a battle. I don't so much mind them not eating there dinner (it is their choice if they want to go to bed hungry) it is the constant complaining that I am not digging at the moment. Just when I was ready to throw a perfectly good plate of food out the window, I calmed down enough to once again present my daughter with her dinner and tell her that Friends (currently her favourite show - what am I raising??) would be banned for the rest of the year if dinner was not consumed, I saw my husbands face when he took his first mouth full of food. Now dear reader, let me explain that dinner was a simply pasta of Cheese and Spinach Tortellini with a tomato cream sauce and salad. Nothing extravagant, but really I could not stuff it up. And I didn't, it was perfectly fine. My husband then ate a quarter of his meal and claimed (wisely he probably thought) he was too full to finish. Well, I am a pretty easy going type of person most of the time, but the look I gave him could have stripped paint of the walls. I admit now I probably overreacted, but when you cook every night for two little people who act like you are poisoning them, it is going to build up one day and bubble over. Tonight was the night.
Anyway, I went and had a good weep and concluded not to cook tomorrow night and leave them all to fend for themselves. Lets see if I follow through (I am sure I will relent when I see my 4 year old trying to butter and vegemite himself a sandwich at 7 pm tomorrow night).