I’d meant to get back into the, at least, once a week posting groove. It seems that I’ve slightly failed in that lofty goal. Ah well, it doesn’t mean I can’t try try again to get the axle repaired, and the wagon rolling (presuming I don’t get dysentery and die).
Sleep continues to be a mixed bag, though I’m holding up well enough. My husband continues his sojourn to the couch; I miss his presence, but not the snoring that was waking me bolt upright! I think the couch has been helping his back pain, so the separation is not a complete write-off. While I think my sleep cycles are starting to smooth out and that I’m waking less throughout the night, I’m trying to not overthink it; staring down the clock and thinking about it too much are reputedly things that make getting back to sleep a bit harder to pull off (though I’ve also seen it said that if you wake up, bumble around a bit before trying again; I guess it’s a ‘your mileage may vary’ sort of thing). The main point is that I am sleeping, and feeling mainly rested, so that’s going to have to suffice for now.
Mood-wise, I’m doing my best to be mindful. Yes, pregnancy hormones take their toll, and I sometimes feel a bit like a bouncing ball, especially if there’s something that makes me sniffly! I’m not a sniffly sentimental sort particularly, so it’s a bit amusing and annoying. But it’s not particularly detrimental; the moment of impact passes, leaving no dents.
Having said that, I’m definitely having to practice a bit of mindfulness. Scumbag brain had already demonstrated that it’s rediscovered some of its capability to catch me when my guard is down. That’s the upside of mainly giddy pregnancy hormones, and the main reason I deemed coming off of my meds an acceptable risk — yes, it sucks and it takes a little bit to shake off the anger or depression that scumbag brain’s bullshit brings with it, but it’s insulated enough that we’re talking maybe a few hours of being angry or depressed at the worst. Really, it’s been more like 20-30 minutes of ‘extreme’ mood, and then back down to something saner. So certainly, it’s not ideal… but it’s definitely better than non-medicated non-pregnant states.
I do look forward to getting back on my meds though, and will as soon as the kiddo is born — here’s a baby, husband! Now, pass me my pills now. *giggles* I just have to think about how severely my mood tanked the second Lilbit was born to remind me; I went from default bad to ‘Why am I even alive. Nobody here cares about me, only my ability to produce children’. Which is utterly unfair, as my in-laws love me very much and are a wonderful part of my life. While I am ‘lucky’ to be Bipolar II and not have to deal with mania, and did not have to deal with postpartum psychosis, it was terrible enough for me to finally bite the bullet and seek help. So in that regard, I’ve a rather snarky thaaaaaanks to that experience, but absolutely no desire to repeat it.
Past that, I’m just dealing with the physical demands of being pregnant. As everyone oh so kindly notes — yes, I’m ‘already’ huge. That’s what happens when you take a relatively small frame, abs that have been stuck in the ‘out’ position for four years, and shove a fetus behind it. At least I’m far enough along that I can feel said fetus squirming and wiggling fit for a greased pig most of the time, which is a complete comfort to my oddly fretful brain. I was totally laid back in my first pregnancy; I guess I’m a bit more stressed by it this time because I absolutely never want to do this again (so hard on a body!), and because having some time to heal my mood and responses compliments of diagnosis and treatment, I’m already a lot more emotionally invested in this particular bundle of cells. I guess it’s because I look forward to closing this chapter of my book, and opening the one where my family is ‘finally complete’, perhaps? I’ve lived enough life and had enough experiences to know I prefer when things are settled and squared away to what-ifs and potentiality.