It is now officially one month to my due date. Today has been really uncomfortable (back aches, Braxton Hicks, exhaustion, feet all swollen, gas, and hello hemorrhoids) and I’m afraid that I am going to be pretty damn miserable for the remainder of the pregnancy. There are a lot of crosswords being done, catnaps while Lucy colors, feet up and bare minimum of housework. We got the furniture from the MIL yesterday so once Sal Army picks up next week I am officially on bare minimum duty.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my expectations of myself and the people around me, and trying to come to terms with what is fair to expect and what I need to suck up and do for myself. This sort of reflection seems to be going around, and I’m hoping it can be productive for everyone doing it. For my part, I came to a grand realization last night that I spend most of my time feeling under-appreciated and second-guessed and that it’s because I find it impossible to step back and enjoy the things I do. As much as I long to be a live-in-the-moment kind of person, I never actually do it. And, worst of all, I feel like if I only did more, I would gain the appreciation and approval I say I feel I deserve when I can’t bring myself to appreciate and approve of what I do. It’s a bit of a mindfuck lately, and I’m hoping some downtime will help me sort it all out. Honestly, I keep trying to write about it and it is coming out all jumbled so if I’m not making sense it’s a combination of being embarrassed to admit how often I get unjustly angry about not getting enough recognition and the fact that I still haven’t figured out how to stop expecting myself to live up to some superhuman standards of everything.
I have a tattoo on my right shoulder, the first professional one I got. It’s a little sun from Lou Reed’s Magic and Loss record, and I got it to commemorate a person who was a sort of writing mentor and who was coming out of a really tough time. I’ve been thinking a lot about the lyrics that reminded me of her when I got the tattoo:
They say no one person can do it all
But you want to in your head
But you can’t be Shakespeare
And you can’t be Joyce
So what is left instead
You’re stuck with yourself
And a rage that can hurt you
You have to start at the beginning again
And just this moment
This wonderful fire started up again
The thing is, I can’t be supermom and superwife and superwriter and superconservationist. I can only do what I can do, and if I can’t sit back at the end of the day and feel like I’ve done something good, I need to think about why.