(This is totally how I feel today, but not nearly as cute.)
I'm sick. Unfortunately, I'm not sick enough to stay home and waste another precious sick day. I just have a nasty case of Kentucky weather. It's March and SNOWING. Which wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't just been 60-something degrees. Needless to say, my head feels like it's about to explode but there's really nothing I can do about it.
Yesterday, I stumbled home from work and declared to everybody that I was sick and needed to sleep. Unfortunately, nobody listened to me, least of all the kid and the dogs (when referred to collectively, we call them "the dependents"). Well before midnight, MH wakes up SOBBING for me, so Jonathan decided to be kind to his crying child and bring her into bed with me where she immediately cozied up to my back, grabbed a handful of my hair, and fell back to sleep. Meanwhile, I was like a hibernating bear waking up about a month too early. I started yelling. CRYING. "I just need sleep! I told you I needed to sleep!" I don't remember anything else because I, you know, fell asleep.
Then at 1 am, the dogs started barking like crazy. At nothing. There was probably a cat on the fence. Or a drunk in the alley. As if these things aren't hourly occurrences and require fresh, loud vigilance every time they transpire. So I stumble out of bed and I spend a good minute screaming at the dogs to shutupshutupSHUTUP! Then I go pee (hey, I'm pregnant and I was up already) and I proceed to cry AGAIN because I only want sleep and the whole world--and my bladder--are conspiring against me.
Anyway, this morning totally sucked. I stumbled around in a dense cloud of allergies and self-pity and things like "packing my lunch" or "finding shoes" sent me reeling off balance, and again, I was crying real tears at the prospect of going to work. At one point, Jonathan got up and I spat, "I am so sick today and I only asked you for one thing which was to sleep but you couldn't even give me that now I have to go work a 13 hour day ENJOY YOUR PARTY TONIGHT!"
(Because it's also J's last week at his crap job and so he's going out with a few of his ex-coworkers, but when you're 6 months pregnant and running on fumes that seems as ridiculous as the most lavish ice sculpture/caviar party.)
To which he (rightly) responded, "Don't yell at me! I didn't wake you up! If you want to yell at somebody, you should be yelling at her!" And he pointed to our two year old with the crazy bedhead and footie pajamas, sitting at the table, innocently eating a banana.
I'm glad to say that I didn't. I was a total wreck this morning but at the very least I did not yell at my daughter for having a bad dream and wanting me to comfort her. Instead, I yelled at my husband some more. Because I'm a GOOD MOTHER!