It's bad. Very bad.

Have you ever read that book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?

That would be today for me.

Have I mentioned that the last 10 weeks of my pregnancies are the very hardest for me? I sail through the first trimester with very little “sickness”. I groove through the second trimester with lots of energy and spunk. I come to a complete halt around 30 weeks or so. I don’t leave my house. I don’t answer the phone. I don’t cook. I don’t think. The only thing I have planned for the entire month of October is this: HAVE BABY. And for the months leading up to it? A whole lot of things on a to do list that are probably not going to get checked off.

I have no patience for my children. None. Zip. Zero. So I spend most of the day trying not to talk to anyone, and when I do it sort of comes out in a yell. I start the sentence off yelling and then realize I’m yelling and tone it back down. (This explains why my children have randomly started yelling weird things.) Like this, “EVERYONE GET TO THE TABLE  NOW!!….eeeerrrrr…. Breakfast is ready, kids!”

Today I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. Like even if someone walked up to me and offered me whatever I wanted, I would have no desire for anything. I felt numb and unmotivated, unloving, uncaring, uncompassionate, and really really HUGE. The problem is that I have the sweetest kids in the world. On a good day, they make me feel like a jerk, even when I haven’t done anything wrong. They’re just that sweet. They deserve the best. And I can’t give them the best right now and that really really bothers me. I go to bed at night and I think, tomorrow will be better. I’ll get plenty of rest tonight, and we’ll get back to normal tomorrow. But I wake up and I’m still tired and round and my brain is foggy and when I do think, all I can think about is how wonderful this new baby is going to be and how I still have 8-10 weeks left to go. Then the rational side of my brain kicks in and I feel stupid for feeling this way. My life is wonderful, full of blessings at every turn. I am usually relatively physically comfortable all the way up until the day I give birth. (I’m thankful for childbearing hips.) I really have nothing to cry about, but then there I am. Crying. Like a baby. And I can’t seem to figure out why or how to stop it. Ugh.

So after nap time the kids were playing and fighting with one another because I hadn’t given them anything constructive to do.

Can you guess what my solution was? Yep. Go to Starbux. Again. Wonders never cease. And do you know they were STILL out of Apple Fritters? Sigh. So I got the kids cookies and bottled water and me a frap and a brownie. Life was good once again. I decided we’d take our party to the park. I made up my mind that I was going to push myself to do great things right up until the day this baby came out of me. The world keeps spinning, and I was going to keep moving too.

On the way to the park I had a fascinating conversation with Arwen about how brownies “look like poop, but they’re really not. They’re just chocolate with a lot of sugar.” (Her words, not mine!) And about how awful it would be if “the restaurant people really did put poop in it sometime, instead of chocolate chips. That would be so terrible and gross. And we’d probably never know.” (Again, not my words. The haunting thing is that it’s true. We really don’t know what is in restaurant food, do we?)

When we got to the park, Ezra dropped his bouncy ball and it bounced its way down the parking lot. Arwen took off after it with her goofy 5 year old gallop and another little boy also went for it. In her determination to get there first, she fell in the gravel and scraped her knee a little. There I was, trying to hold on to Ezra and Charis, the water bottle and my frap, lock the van, and Arwen was sitting there weeping, wailing, and gnashing her teeth. (You need to know that she is a bit of a drama queen.) I finally made my way to her and assessed that very little damage had been done to her knee. Although she had actually managed to smear dirt across her face and up both arms somehow. She looked like she’d been run over by a car or something. I thought that maybe once we got to the playground she’d forget about it and run and play. Charis and Ezra were more than happy to be there, but Arwen insisted on sitting on the bench and wailing at the top of her lungs. Great.

Did I mention the park was crowded? And no one knew that I was having a bad day or that Arwen tends to really feel sorry for herself and overdramatize stuff. I’m sure I looked like kate g. mom of the year out there rolling my eyes at my helpless child. For the record, I did love on her and try to clean it out with the water I had. Nothing worked. We had to leave. She wailed and gnashed teeth at me all the way home. There wasn’t even, like, blood streaming down her leg or anything. Just some little scrapes and a little blood, people. No bruises or swelling.

I didn’t have a clue what to do with her, so I sent her to her room. And then I sat on the couch and cried. And then Ezra fell down in the living room and he cried. So three out of the four people in our home were officially losing it. Tinkerbell Charis was playing with blocks, totally oblivious to the fact that the rest of her family was having a nervous breakdown.

Now they are on their second episode of Dora. And that’s our evening. Sigh. I either need a hug or a swift kick in the butt.