I get bigger by the day. I’m sick as a fucking dog. My sleep schedule is a nightmare. I throw up randomly and mostly stomach acid. I have vivid dreams. My house is a wreck. I’m not doing the best at work, by any means - barely making it though the day and still falling behind even when I’m basically caught up.
My anxiety is so high. I feel like I’m about to cry every single moment.
But then my husband tucks me into bed. He puts his hand on my growing stomach. And the baby moves around inside me. He feels it the same moment I do, and I feel for a split second like this might work out. It might be worth it. The feeling is fleeting and doesn’t last long, and I still want to cry, but I wish so deeply and strongly that this will all work out ok in the end.
I’m so fucking scared. What if I can’t manage all this? What if I can’t DO it? What if I’m a failure at this? What if I’m not strong enough?
I feel like I’m already failing and I’m not even there yet. I dread each day when I open my eyes. Each work week is just me dragging myself through to Saturday so that I can sleep and try to get some of my life back in order. I’m so behind in so many areas. There are so many things I need to DO.
But all my energy goes to mental anguish.
Fml, help me, universe. Help me, God, to manage. I want to do more than just survive right now.
