Zapped

My friend Kelly sent me a very kind and concerned email, worried that I was on bed rest or something since I haven't posted in a while.

      

Bed rest? Well, not officially. Does it count if you're so plumb tuckered it's all you can do to muster a feeble "Move over" before you flop on the couch for the fourth time in an hour? All right, all you gals who have been on bed rest, calm down. I know it doesn't count.

  

No, nothing's wrong. Nothing abnormal, anyway. I'm just too tired to be ... well, to be. My left leg is blue from veins that protest too much, my ankles are the same circumference as my thighs, and I no longer need eye shadow -- my eyelids are a deep plum color au naturale. My tone of voice is annoying, even to me, and my sense of humor has gone missing. It's probably hiding under the stacks (HA! that's a gracious word for the disorganized chaos) of winter coats, blankets, and boots that are waiting for me to sort through them. In the middle of the hallway. The downstairs hallway. The one to which the front door opens.

  

I've been in a funk, and I know part of it is due to the ... well, closeness of the due date (something like 7 weeks? I've lost count and am too tired to go to the calendar...see what I mean?). There's also the fact that Ethan graduates at the end of next week (oh, glorious day!). But first, there are papers and exams to be completed (and for some reason, I stress out about this way more than he does). And since we will be going to the graduation (two states away) and camping in our camper, there are lists to be made, swimsuits to be found, lotions to be packed, and food to be prepared. And since he will be graduating from seminary, we will be much more aggressively pursuing a call to a church. So there are decisions to be made, possessions to be de-possessed, and familial bonds to be stretched as we move away from family.

  

The last few weeks of pregnancy are sort of like the first for me -- I cry easily and often, although rarely in front of others, and I am better not seen nor heard. I always remind myself of that horse (or whatever it was) in the movie "The Never-Ending Story." I'm not even exactly sure of the scene, as it was the first movie I saw as a kid on our brand new (**Beta!**) VCR and I haven't seen it since, so pardon me if I butcher this...but they are travelling through some sort of slough or bog or quicksand or something and if they think sad thoughts, they just keep sinking deeper and deeper and deeper. So the trick is to think happy thoughts. But the horse (or whatever it is) can't think happy thoughts and ends up sinking.

  

My self-misery enjoys the entrapment, I think. I look at the hallway, and then the dishes, and then the boxed-up books, and then my puffy toes...and I just want to call it quits. That's when I am thankful for women who won't allow giving up...writers of sites like this and this and this. It's when I have to force myself to read God's Word, and not just to the children, but to myself...to see what the reality is. It's not in the mess or dirt or discomfort or anxiety of these things that will (YES, THEY WILL!!!!) pass away.

          

So, no, I'm not incapacitated or hampered (although, speaking of hampers, there are quite a few clothes that need folding...).

  

I've just been trying to figure out how to get out of this Sulky Susie get-up.

   

Anybody got an extra Wonder Woman outfit?