It’s time I admit this- I am cracking.
I am totally losing my mind and I’m not sure what to do about it.
I’m sure if I were to seek medical attention, they would call me crazy and lock me up. So, instead, when I visit my doctor and she asks, “Is everything going okay?” I smile and say, “Yes, it’s awesome! Never better!” And likely, for fear of getting injured in his sleep, my husband just nods in agreement. I realize that he may enjoy me in a straight jacket for the next four months of this pregnancy- so before our next appointment I’ll threaten him.
Anyway, back to my 50 shades of crazy. Here’s what my daily life looks like.
I wake up with a headache, choke down my tiny little thyroid pill, and gag a few times. I open the cupboard to grab my daughter’s breakfast, I see the gallon of milk in there. I think, “Wow, who’s the idiot who did that?” It takes a few minutes to realize that I had milk around 11 the night before…. oops. I am evil and still blame my daughter.
I rush to get everything ready because I need to go to work early for something… I also have to pack my breakfast and coffee to go because I just threw chunks in the sink brushing my teeth.
On a side note: Drinking my coffee is usually a dilemma because it makes me sick to my stomach, but alleviates my headache. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. And yes, I consume caffeine when I’m pregnant…
When I get to school, I climb the stairs, stop and catch my breath and fumble out my keys. Once I finally make it into to my classroom, I sit at my desk (actually, at a student desk because my desk is too full of stuff) eat my breakfast and stare blankly at my computer screen thinking, “Why did I come here early??” After about 10 minutes of this, my brain snaps into gear and I start working on the paperwork that was due the week before… only to hear the bell.
I scarf down my bagel, gag down my last sip of coffee, and I travel on my merry old way to period 1. Now, typically, a traveling teacher may leave things behind, but this has become almost hazardous, and the students think it’s hilarious. I don’t.
In my haste to finish breakfast, I accidentally leave my keys on my desk. Make it through period 1, collect student papers and head to period 2. I stop at the door to catch my breath, put the papers down, and continue on to class, back in my room. I spend time running around, helping this one and helping that, eating dill pickle chips I found on my desk in between. I also see my keys, thinking “Silly me!” grab them, and leave them on the shelf by the door.
The bell rings, so I then head to Period 3. Once I get there, I sit at the teacher’s desk with my laptop, my cell phone, and my chips. Class goes well and I head back to my room, but leave my cell phone behind. While walking back to my room, I realize that I’ve forgotten to boil eggs for a period 4 science experiment. I pause to shed a few tears before realizing that I’m locked out of my room, with my keys on the shelf by the door. I can see them. That doesn’t help.
I waddle down the hall to find my savior, our custodian, and she unlocks my door.
Once I get to my room, I know I have about 30 minutes before my period 4 begins so I sit down to grade papers and realize I don’t know where they are. So, I decide to work on something else- then I realize I have to make a call, so I spend 10 minutes looking for my phone. I remember the egg and send my classroom ed tech on a mission to boil an egg. And he goes, happily, likely for fear that I break down crying again. A few minutes later, a student walks in with my phone and I’m relieved, so relieved that I laugh out loud by myself for a few minutes, which quickly turn into tears because I’ve forgotten what I was doing.
And of course, by this time, I’ve forgotten who I was supposed to call and realize I’m hungry while simultaneously remembering that my lunch was on the couch and I didn’t grab it on the way out. There is no stopping the tears- it’s not possible. Then I start laughing realizing that I have money in my pocket and make my way to the vending machine- party mix and Snickers, chased by ginger ale.
Oh, did I mention I probably have gestational diabetes?
So, on a sugar high, I remember my papers, grab them, and head back to my classroom. When I get there, I remember that my phone is on the couch in the teacher’s room. I sigh in relief because it’s already 11 am, then start to cry because my leftover lasagna will be no good by the time I get home. Time to make a boiled egg disappear.
I spend the rest of the day putting out fires with oil and stopping every now and then to cry. Sometimes I laugh. Other times, I say things that I think are funny that make others cry, while I laugh hysterically. I have decided that being a sarcastic pregnant woman and allowed in the general public may not be good for people.
I have also noticed other people going to the other side of the hallway when they see me… I wonder if it’s because they’re afraid that I’ll blow my nose on their sleeve again while sobbing. People are so sensitive.
I realize (about 2 minutes too late) that I forgot to call my daughter’s school to give her a bus pass… I think, “Oh well, she’ll figure it out!”
When I finally get home, I strip down, put on sweats and fall into the couch and someone has the nerve to ask what’s for supper. I say, “I have some lasagna for you!”
At that point, my husband decides he’s going to cook supper, thinking it’s the lesser of two evils. I decide to get off the couch and give him helpful suggestions while he cooks. He says that I’m criticizing so I leave and go back to the living room, you guessed it, crying.
I decide to do some research about being pregnant and read about women having babies and dying from random diseases and start crying again. I then find a funny story about a little boy coloring his sister with permanent marker from head to toe and start laughing (are you starting to see why they’d lock me up?).
It’s time for supper! I sit down and look at the smorgasbord of Shwan’s homemade foods in front of me and realize that what I really want is cereal. So, I pour a bowl of cereal… now I realize the double standard here because I would likely glare fire if someone in my house dared do that to me, but I blame the baby in my belly. Poor kid.
It’s bath time, bed time, and I finally sit on the couch. 8:30. Ready to sleep. So I pull out the work that I’m supposed to get done, then realize that I didn’t bring it home- and I don’t know where those papers are, so I sit there for about 15 minutes staring blankly and finally remember where they are: on my desk under the empty Snicker’s wrapper. Surprisingly, I don’t cry. It’s no big deal! I decide that I’ll go to school early tomorrow to do get my work done. Feeling relieved, I close my eyes.
And just like Michael Finnegan, it begins again…