Walkin' After Midnight

I love this little thing inside me. I see it doing all kinds of tricks in my belly--the alien way my outtie bell button pops up and down. A wave of movement from within. These are the good times, I say to myself. I see its booty pop up, and I push on it. It pushes right back at me. Little spunky thing like its mother.

 But it walks all over me.

I imagine it in there (yes, I say it...it's okay), just walking and punching my insides, and then doing a few somersalts. I'm happy for him/her that he/she is not defined by gravity right now. 
But her walking sends me walking. 

I keep hearing Patsy Cline on the radio these days--she's one of my favorites. 
I realize this might be the end of sleep as I once knew it. I wake up and every sense of my zen-yoganess is dissolved into fury and frustration (who am I kidding? We all know I have a breakdown at around 7:30 every night). I'm hot, I'm flustered, and damn it, I'm just not comfortable. And do I have to go to the bathroom or not? I don't know. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Will it rain or will it snow?

It could be my addiction to chocolate. It could be that for the first time in 3 years, I crave coffee like a crack addict. It could be my husband snoring and screaming in his sleep, "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" And later, "WHO WON THE GAME?" and an hour after that, "Baby, they said they already picked up the carpet." And then later, "That was a great game." 

Sometimes there is loud yelling, and sometimes it's just a simple, calm sentence. 

It could be the moon, it could be the sun. But it's definitely not the chamomile tea or the magnesium hot bath. It's not the huge man T-shirt I have to wear or the lavender oil on my pillow. It's not the yoga. 

It's my body. 

I talk about the body in yoga. It holds the essence of spirit. And spirit is the source the mind. So I have to trust the body knows what it's doing. Some say it's preparing me to be up all night with the babe. I say back, "Wouldn't it want me to get sleep right now while I can, instead of torturing me?"

But I have to trust it's the right thing. I'm trying this out. 
Trust the right things are happening at the right time. 

Sure, I wake up every 3 hours thinking about what packages haven't come in from Pottery Barn yet. Sure, I feel like crying and losing it all day long. Sure, I'm a big huge chocolate addict who can turn into a demon at any moment. Lack of sleep, lack of time. And the baby isn't even crying in front of me.

This is definitely a pregnancy post. But can you blame me? Two months to go. From the side, I look like an isosceles triangle. My boobs are huge, competing for space with my high belly. I try to put a bra on (a damn D!), and they're like, "Nuh-uh. Not here, partner." And I say, "Yes, boobs. I can't walk around like a braless hippy." They say, "Fine, be our guest. I'm telling you, we have enough support from your big-ass belly." And so I wear the bra, and it squeezes me all day long in the most crowded area of my body, and around 6:30, I just can't breathe any more, and it's coming off. Then my boobs jump up and down for joy.  My whole mood changes. I'm like a different woman with my bra off. 

No complaints though. Like I always say, I am madly blessed. Insanely. And sometimes I feel I don't deserve it. But it's true. Sure, things aren't perfect. But they're perfect for me.

Sleep deprivation? What to do? I don't know. I just have to trust it's happening for a reason. If you're going through this too, perhaps we can find the answers together. But I feel your pain. Boy, do I ever feel your pain. I think it's an individual thing. My thing may be that I need to cut out the morning chocolate, which has caffeine in it. Or maybe I just need to chill the hell out. 

Tiredly,
Liza Jane