I'm Only Sleeping

Exhaustion has a way of taking your goals, lofty or otherwise, and squashing them much like I would a mosquito that just sticks its evil little proboscis into my forearm.

What I'm getting at here is that I am tired. I'm not talking about your run-of-mill-I-worked-a-long-day tired, but more like who-just-spiked-my-macchiato-with-roofies? kind of deal. By the time my husband gets home from work, which is on average around 5:30 (yes, I consider myself lucky on that front), my irises have been replaced by animated spirals and my tongue is lolling out of my mouth. Being pregnant can be relentlessly exhausting, especially in the first and last trimesters (I'm presently in the latter), and so can entertaining and chasing a highly inquisitive and active 12 month-old boy; a combination of the two creates a cocktail of fatigue that I've never before encountered. (Not to mention that I'm also dealing with an increasingly moody 'tween.) Perhaps in the near future I'll come up with a new word that can describe my present state of being.

Okay, so I'm complaining here, but I think I've managed to get my point across. I. Am. Tired.

But what I really want to say is how my level of exhaustion has managed to turn me into a lifeless blob on the couch, evening after evening. Against my better judgment, I sit on the couch each night in order to squeeze in some quality time (or speechless next-to time) with my husband. I guess that my desire to be near my husband for just a few hours each night overrides my passion for a longer get-together with our Tempurpedic (shameless plug here...).

Before I became pregnant this time 'round, I had plans to chase after my above-mentioned little guy, agonize over homework with my 'tween, and work on a children's book that I began writing last year for a grad school class. Knowing how tired I am, my girlfriend suggested starting a blog--something less daunting than a novel with which to wet my feet.

Problem is, I can't even seem to muster the energy to blog. Well, maybe I could get it up to type, but to actually think? We're talking about using several parts of the brain at once in order for that to happen. Typing is so much more simple. Kind of like breathing.

So, what prompted and produced some writing this evening? That's easy. I threw my back out on Mother's Day (not exactly the kind of stay-in-bed-and-get-waited-on-all-day celebration of motherhood I had in mind) and have since been making a concerted effort to rest. Also, at the moment, my husband is running a call for work, my little one is sleeping, and my oldest is reading in bed. As far as the actual production of the written word, I can only surmise that I've been overcome by a sudden and inexplicable surge in synapse activity.

If my karma has finally managed to right itself (dear god, I hope it has), my post-pregnancy hormones will harmonize, I'll endure a month or two of newborn-related fatigue (which also deserves its very own term), and I'll be back to feeling human at some point not terribly far in the future, all of which are far more conducive to both thinking (or at least thinking clearly) and being productive.

That all being said, I'm winding down into my oft-state of drooling incoherence, in five-four-three-two...