If you’re a regular blog reader, you may have noticed that I’ve been on a little bit of a hiatus for the last couple of weeks. I haven’t abandoned the blog and run screaming into the night. But I have given myself a little time for a mental health break. With a new baby coming in less than two weeks and still working full time I had to look around for a moment and say to myself “you’re doing too much,” and then act accordingly.
Although I’m an advocate of making sure you take care of you and aren’t constantly running until your body forces you to drop, I’ll admit that I didn’t rest willingly this time. My bit of time off came after a day off real office tears.
How I ended up in tears at work on a Monday morning started with the Saturday before. Following my baby shower, my five-year-old son threw up all night long. I spent all Saturday night and Sunday morning stripping sheets, wiping down mattresses, cleaning floors, and starting the whole process over again…and again.
By mid-day Sunday the barf-fest had ended, but I also realized that I hadn’t felt the baby inside move since around 5 a.m. that morning, at all.
Lying on my side, I gulped down cold water, usually a sure-fire way to get the baby moving. Nothing. And then the contractions started. Painful contractions. I called my doctor who told me to head to labor and delivery.
After hours in L&D everything checked out, so I could get home and back to not sleeping at night.
On Monday morning I woke up and briefly considered staying home from work and then decided against it in the midst of our busiest season. I dragged myself out of bed prepping myself for my morning, which would include getting the kids to school, and a doctor’s appointment before heading into the office.
All of it would have to wait for a few minutes though, because in my inability to bend all the way down in cleaning up throw up the day before, I had missed a spot, which my daughter kindly informed me of as I exited the shower. I still haven’t decided whether cleaning up fresh throw up or dried throw up is the more enjoyable task.
After making sure that my home was finally vomit-free, I woke up my son, whose first words were: “I peed in the bed.”
Again I strip the sheets for probably the 79th time in 48 hours. Get him in and out of the tub, hand him his uniform and tell him to get dressed.
In the meantime, I go downstairs to make the lunches that I didn’t make the night before while I was in labor and delivery and make lunch and breakfast. And in the brief moment that I let my mind wander, I remember that I didn’t submit a blog post that was due the day before.
“Crap!!” I yell to no one in particular.
I head back upstairs to tell my son breakfast is ready and to hurry up because we’re running late.
He’s asleep. In his underwear.
“Logan!!! Wake up! You’re not going to have time to eat now!”
“But I’m hungry.” Pouting.
The cat meows. I stifle a scream.
I throw him in his clothes. He eats half of his breakfast and we head out the door just in time to get him to school early and my daughter to school late. As I’m driving my daughter to school she says “I’m probably going to be really late for school once the baby comes.” Which is exactly what I needed to hear, before she got out of the car without responding to my goodbye.
I resist the urge to yell out of the window at how rude she is. I don’t have the energy to be embarrassing. I get to the doctor’s office and sit and wait for an hour for an appointment that lasts all of eight minutes.
Finally I make it to work, the contractions strengthening with every step as I make my way up the stairs to my office.
I sit at my desk and see the emails that have come in over the weekend, bold and needing responses. And that’s when the tears come. Sitting at my desk I cried big, fat baby tears without bothering to close my office door.
It wasn’t the first day I’ve had a hectic morning, it wasn’t the worst, and it won’t be the last, but it was a moment that I realized that now might be a good time to take it easy, or at least easier. Life is about to get better, but busier, Making Love in the Microwave is about to get harder, so in this brief moment, I plan to take a deep breath before my life needs to expand to make room for another life in it.
So if you see me sparingly over the next week or so, I am not gone, just preparing and breathing. In the interim, I would love to hear from some of you. If you have a great date to share, story about your marriage, quick tip, or anything else, I would love to see it and share it as a guest post on the blog. Please contact me or email firstname.lastname@example.org.