(Because this photo looks so very pathetic, let me start by saying: I am totally fine. Happy and excited, even. Just maybe a little less happy and excited at 3A.M. when I am wandering around our apartment trying to figure out how, exactly, to get comfortable enough to sleep.)
So have you ever heard the word “tetchy”?
It means sort of restlessly irritable, and makes me think of how my dogs behave when there’s a rainstorm on the way: scratching at walls, whining at windows, and generally acting crazy. I think I’ve read the word in books from time to time, but I have never before felt compelled to actually use it.
I am tetchy.
Except instead of scratching at walls, I am doing things like bursting into tears for very literally no reason at all, washing every single piece of clothing in the house the second it becomes dirty, making crazily detailed lists, and pacing around our apartment while yelling about the air conditioner settings.
I remember this from last time: at the end – meaning the last three or four weeks – things get a little nuts. You can’t sleep at all and make very attractive OOOOF sounds every time you roll over or have to get out of bed, your acid reflux goes into overdrive, weird crampy things start happening requiring anxious 4A.M. Google searches, and – strangest of all – you start behaving like an actual caged animal: walking in circles, moving things around for no discernible reason, stacking and unstacking and restacking whatever’s in front of you and not being able to stop yourself.
You get tetchy.
Last night, for example, we were getting into bed and Kendrick said something that made me laugh, and then the laughing turned instantly into full-on hysterical crying about – and this is a quote – being “scared to love another person as much as I love my son,” and it was all just about as lucid and non-dramatic as it sounds. And then, mid-cry, I wailed that the only thing that would make me feel better was if we installed the car seat, did a load of laundry, and washed all of the dishes. RIGHT NOW. In the dark. To Kendrick’s credit, he managed to hold off on making fun of me until I had drunk a glass of water and turned on Orange Is The New Black, which distracted me enough that I went back to being a semi-rational person.
It all makes biological sense – it’s basically frantic nesting in anticipation of bringing home a baby – but when you’re in it, you can know what’s going on and still have zero control over what your mind and body are up to. It’s funny, and crazy, and mostly means that even if you don’t feel “ready” for the baby to get here…guess what’s about to happen?
I’m ready. (By which I don’t mean “oh yeah, I got this,” but rather “let’s move on to the next part, please.”)
But ready or not: this can’t-ignore-it reminder of just how close we’re getting is pretty wild.