As my daughter twisted and turned restlessly in her sleep this afternoon, I regretted how I reacted this morning to her constant whining and tantrum throwing.  It’s obvious that my daughter’s allergies have been making her miserable.  Her eyes are watering, nose is running and she coughed all night.  Needless to say, none of us got much sleep and it’s showing today.  She really wanted and needed a nap this afternoon, which is rare for her, but she gave it a shot.  As my eight month of pregnancy wears on, I feel as though I have become a different person.  This new person, equipped with an enormous belly and  equally enormous thighs is exhausted and whiny as well, so the two of us (my daughter and  I) are napalm.

This nap ended in tears and plenty of “I want daddy!” followed.  A minor meltdown occurred in the bathroom where she refused to use the potty and began scratching at walls with her nails to demonstrate her frustration.  Now that things have settled for the time being, I’m reminded that she is merely exhausted and feeling horrible… something I should be able to relate to this late in the game.  But instead of supporting her this morning I simply snapped at her insistent ways and showed my own distaste for life in general.  My friends tell me to take it easy––that my moods are normal for this stage of my pregnancy––and that I need to give myself a break.  But the fact is, I don’t feel like myself.  I feel like Nissa has vacated my body.  Sadly, I spend very little time looking for ‘her’.  Instead, I tread through each day and beg for night to come.  I “wish my life away,” something my grandmother always warned me about.  No, I am quite content to settle into this hormonal state of being and crab at the world.  Let’s face it, I have plenty of things with my personal demeanor that could use some work, but I am okay with who I am as a whole… and that usually is enough for me.

So this sleepy rant begs the question, what makes a good mother? Is it the woman who never shows a moment’s weakness or doubts herself? Whoever she is, I fear I am not her––and will never be.  I want to love my children unconditionally and show them nothing but my love and affection, but there are days when I need a break from it all.  Deep down, I am still me.  And I think that’s a bummer to some people in my life. Becoming a mother has rounded me out in EVERY way, and I’m completely grateful, but I will always be Nissa.  Faults and all.

It has been awhile since my last post.  I find that this pregnancy has taken the wind out of my otherwise creative sails, so I’ve just been hiding out.  But I should share a little anecdote before this little monkey is born, so here I go…

Georgia is beautiful in the spring, but the pollen is brutal.  I have NEVER seen this much pollen in my entire life––and my allergies are killing me.  That being said, we took a family trip to Canyon State Park to hike amongst the pollen and many critters that inhabit this hot, hot region. Because we have a two-year old, I am eight-months pregnant and it was 85 degrees, we opted to take the white trail, which is only 3 miles long. Only.  Ha! We packed our jogging stroller full of goodies for the trail and asked El if she wanted a ride.  She’d been really tired and didn’t nap on the 40 minute drive down, so we thought she’d want to rest.  Nope.  The girl wants to hike.  So we descended into the canyon, Craig pushing the jogger and me holding El’s hand.  She slipped on the red clay and I held tight.  She yelled out, “Whoa mom! It’s slippery!”

“I know… I know.  I’ve gotcha’,” I said as I pulled her along the trail.

Looking at the ground beneath her, she sad, “Be careful mommy.  Gunnar could fall out!” I started to crack up.  It was one of the first and last times I’d laugh.  Soon after, she wanted a rest.  We loaded her into the stroller where she ate a few snacks and then promptly wanted to be let out. Sigh.  Five feet down the trail I spotted a giant centipede… like something you would see on Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel.  It was giant––and totally freaky.  Of course Craig picked it up with a stick, so his daughter could get a good look at it.  He put it down after everyone got a good look at it and Elsa started to get upset because she wanted to hold it.  I told her that she absolutely could not hold it––that it could bite, and she threw a fit.  She truly thought we were taking something away from her.  So we dragged her off.  Sigh.

Soon after, we met a couple who was taking a break with their two kids and old yellow lab.  They warned us of copperheads and mud, but these Coloradoans weren’t afraid.  We trekked on.  And no, no copperheads were found, and only a little mud.  I did however get several looks and comments about how brave I was to be hiking.  My “condition” obviously put people off.  Honestly? My toddler was far more obnoxious than my oversized frame.  I mean really, I’m six weeks away from going through the most physically demanding thing a person can endure and these people think I am cracked for hiking while pregnant.  Sigh.

Last, but not least, Craig was sweating and his sunscreen dripped into his eyes.  This provided the family with a pain-fest for the next 30 or more minutes.  Sigh.  I just wanted to get the hell out of there.  I was dying to get back to our car.  My back was killing me and my hips felt as though I had ground them down to the bone.  Sigh.  It was supposed to take us 1.5 hours, but it had taken us nearly 3.  Again… sigh.

I guess I feel like this journey of pregnancy is not unlike our hike through the canyon.  My toddler acted like… a toddler.  My husband was exhausted and miserable.  And I was the cranky bitch pushing us on.