Am I going to survive motherhood?

Aye, aye, aye. I find it really annoying when people go on and on and on about all the crap in their lives without ever focusing on positives. Lately, though, I feel like I've been doing just that. And I hate it, but now I get it. Sometimes you just want some old fashioned sympathy. You just want someone else to say, "Wow, that's tough. I'm sorry."

The past few weeks have been nothing short of miserable. I've been getting extreeeeemely uncomfortable and I'm only 27 weeks pregnant, ya'll. I absolutely didn't hit this point with Ben until much, much later.

Then there's the whole insomnia issue. Seems that while I was spared of it with my first pregnancy, I didn't get so lucky this time around (I was spared of lots of things the first time around that I've had to deal with this time, as a matter of fact). I wake up every two hours to pee and it takes me a good 20 to 30 minutes to get back to sleep at the earliest. TORTURE, I tell you. Because an hour and a half later, I'm up again. Oh, and then there's that pesky little my-child-wouldn't-sleep-if-his-life-depended-on-it thing going on, too. Once I get up with him, that's it. I'm done. There's no hope that I can fall back asleep again.

Then there's the illness factor. I don't know WHAT is up, but yours truly, the one who rarely gets sick, is always sick now. Let's see, at 7 months pregnant I've been sick eight times. That's not right. Last week a stomach bug ravaged our house and left Tim, Ben and I in its dust. We were sick as dogs. I lost eight pounds in two days! This week? Why yes, this week we're sick again. Now we have colds. Wait, didn't I just get over a cold? Ah, that's right. A month ago! Does it ever end?

Tim went out of town on another business trip this week, and as comically as ever, of course the world caved in (let's see, in the past it's been a flooded basement, sewer back-up in the laundry room, etc., etc., etc.). Ben had a particularly rough night on Monday that left me with a grand total of one hour of sleep. I wiped the sleep outta my eyes and put on my big girl pants. I had my glucose test for gestational diabetes, so I packed the kiddo and I up and decided to brave a blood draw with a toddler all by myself. It couldn't be that bad, right? Ha! I'm being punished. My karma is bad, folks. I sit down, pale-faced and queasy thanks to a disgustingly sweet "lemon-lime" drink and no breakfast, get my arm all rubber-banded up and Ben starts throwing a fit. Okay, doable. I can handle a fit during a 10 second blood draw. Only I kept bleeding. And bleeding. And bleeding. The chick is finally like, "Weird, you must be a bleeder, huh?" Why, no. No one has ever called me a bleeder before, but thanks? Five miserable minutes later, drowned out by toddler screams, I hear the nurse say, "Okay, I think it's stopped. You can go now." FINALLY. I stand up, the room spins and I know this is going to end badly. But I chug along, start walking back to the doctor's room and SPLAT. My legs give out, everything turns black and I go kaput. I guess I was only out for a second, but it was utterly humiliating. They pump me full of grape juice and cheese crackers and send me on my merry way.

God gets me home safe and sound, albeit emotionally drained, and I just bawl. Like a little tiny baby. Then I beg Tim to please just come home and never go on another business trip again.

To make a painfully long story a little shorter, I start getting sick in the afternoon, muster up enough energy to make it through the day until Tim gets home at night, and then listen to Ben cry until 10:30 last night. I don't sleep yet again because this cold is kicking my arse and then Ben decides to protest his nap today after waking up at 6:30 this morning.

Lord help me.