Summertime, and the Living is Easy
10 Comments posted by Kristi on Thursday, August 10, 2006 at 7:54 AM
Warning: Rant ahead.
When you're nine months pregnant, sometimes even the smallest activities are difficult. For example, sitting upright without back support. Or standing for longer than two minutes. Or rolling over in bed. Oh, and also walking. The pressure on my pelvis is enormous these days. My back is killing me. And most days, I just feel uncomfortable. And gargantuan.
And hauling one's enlarged ass out of bed every morning to go to work, when one only spent what seems like five minutes asleep in said bed the previous night? Is torture.
To add insult to injury, I am married to a teacher. Who is off during the summer. And whom I leave asleep in bed every morning, while I haul myself downstairs to feed the cats, slug down some vile decaf, and then struggle to find two items of clothing that when worn together don't make me look like a colorblind three year old picked out my outfit for the day (and which also still fit) to wear to work. Have I mentioned my dear husband is asleep in bed during all this? I have? Ahem. Moving on.
Once dressed, I pack my bag, say goodbye to the the snoring man in my bed, and head to work, on the way to which I stop at my dear friend Dunkin's house for a slightly less vile decaf iced coffee to take with me to my office. The stairs up to the third floor taunt me as I pass them by, as I head toward the friend of the large, lazy, or otherwise encumbered-the elevator. And for the next eight hours, I'm working. Or "working." Can you see my air quotes? My mind isn't exactly 100% on my job these days. And the husband? Probably still sleeping.
I've come home on a few of the hotter summer days, exhausted from work and from hauling around the Beastie all day, to find the husband floating on a raft in our pool, the radio turned on, a beer sitting on the pool ledge. And it often takes every ounce of my patience not to whack him over the head with a noodle.
I know I'm being silly. After all, as every single one of my family members like to tell me, I could have been a teacher too. (To which I respond, "Probably not, as the carnage in my classroom at the end of the day would be enormous." Patience and I? Not friends.) And he has done a huge amount of work around the house in getting everything ready for the Beastie, while helping me with whatever I ask him to do (usually). But the green-eyed monster is out in full force. I should be the one lounging by the pool and relaxing! I'm the one who needs to lay down after heaving myself up the three stairs to our kitchen! I'm the one carrying the baby, dammit!
I hear Bulgaria is lovely this time of year.
When you're nine months pregnant, sometimes even the smallest activities are difficult. For example, sitting upright without back support. Or standing for longer than two minutes. Or rolling over in bed. Oh, and also walking. The pressure on my pelvis is enormous these days. My back is killing me. And most days, I just feel uncomfortable. And gargantuan.
And hauling one's enlarged ass out of bed every morning to go to work, when one only spent what seems like five minutes asleep in said bed the previous night? Is torture.
To add insult to injury, I am married to a teacher. Who is off during the summer. And whom I leave asleep in bed every morning, while I haul myself downstairs to feed the cats, slug down some vile decaf, and then struggle to find two items of clothing that when worn together don't make me look like a colorblind three year old picked out my outfit for the day (and which also still fit) to wear to work. Have I mentioned my dear husband is asleep in bed during all this? I have? Ahem. Moving on.
Once dressed, I pack my bag, say goodbye to the the snoring man in my bed, and head to work, on the way to which I stop at my dear friend Dunkin's house for a slightly less vile decaf iced coffee to take with me to my office. The stairs up to the third floor taunt me as I pass them by, as I head toward the friend of the large, lazy, or otherwise encumbered-the elevator. And for the next eight hours, I'm working. Or "working." Can you see my air quotes? My mind isn't exactly 100% on my job these days. And the husband? Probably still sleeping.
I've come home on a few of the hotter summer days, exhausted from work and from hauling around the Beastie all day, to find the husband floating on a raft in our pool, the radio turned on, a beer sitting on the pool ledge. And it often takes every ounce of my patience not to whack him over the head with a noodle.
I know I'm being silly. After all, as every single one of my family members like to tell me, I could have been a teacher too. (To which I respond, "Probably not, as the carnage in my classroom at the end of the day would be enormous." Patience and I? Not friends.) And he has done a huge amount of work around the house in getting everything ready for the Beastie, while helping me with whatever I ask him to do (usually). But the green-eyed monster is out in full force. I should be the one lounging by the pool and relaxing! I'm the one who needs to lay down after heaving myself up the three stairs to our kitchen! I'm the one carrying the baby, dammit!
I hear Bulgaria is lovely this time of year.
I know, I'm jealous of the various and sundry teachers I have in my life every summer, and yet...For the pay, lack of respect, and general frustration of teaching? I just say HELL NO to a teaching job.
Of course the 8 zillion dollars I will have in debt will basically dictate that I become a slave at a firm, but you know, it's cool, I guess. Dammit.
In the meantime, my road to riches...Powerball.
I do not envy you. I was pregnant last summer in the inferno that is Georgia. It was miserable. My tummy was so big that rolling over was a major task and the stairs, forget it. It will all be over soon and you will be holding that sweet little beastie in your arms. Hang in there. Are you sleeping with a pillow between your knees? That helped with some of the pressure for me.
I think you have every right to be seethingly jealous, considering the circumstances!
LOL I would be annoyed, too. He should've had to give up something you had to give up to show some solidarity. Like Lent.
I'd have to whack him with the noodle. At least a couple times/day.
Does he have dinner ready for you when you come home from work? and does he massage your feet? It's the least he could do... ;-)
Re pregnancy,I do sympathise. The last two weeks are hell. You'll be so pleased to see that baby!
Just a small query-how come you're working so close to the birth? I don't know much about labour laws and maternity leave in America but in Europe you stop a few weeks before the birth.
Christine-You're right. Teaching is a really hard job, and there's no way I could do it either. But working to what essentially equates to half a year (once you build in the breaks) definitely sounds good to me right now!
Sunshine-Yikes. I don't pity you in that Georgia heat. I am sleeping with a pillow, and it does help...sometimes.
Shannon- Me too!
L-I agree. I think he should give up the pool until I come home and can get in too.
Marie-No dinner because I like to do that myself. But he does rub my back for me, which is nice.
Papa-I'm hearing a tiny little violin, and it's playing your sad, sad song.
Rocco-Oh dear. Vacation? When you have your gut sliced open, Beastie extracted, and then are sewed back together (while you're still awake, mind you), and then have to recover while taking care of a bambino, then we'll talk. Until then, shuttie! ;)
Angela-The US has the second worst maternity leave laws for women in the entire WORLD. Paid maternity leave is not even required in this country. I envy you in Europe. If you want to read my rant on this topic, go here: http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-wonder-what-my-cats-food-will-taste.html
Ps: Thanks for stopping by my blog!
Sher-LOL. That movie was awesome. And I can hack it for another 11 days.
hang in there!
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