The power is out as I type this Sunday night. Hope it comes back on in time to schedule my Monday post, because I don’t know when I could post it tomorrow. This has become yet another practice at forgiveness – not for the power company, but for myself. Because I’ve known my hectic schedule for ages and shouldn’t be procrastinating.
The things I am struggling to forgive myself for:
- The fact that the baby’s room is the only room in the house properly painted. This will continue to be the case at least until next spring because I have no more free time between now and October.
- Last week’s missed post. Between painting the baby’s room (and cleaning up), social and family obligations, and the chaos that the day job suddenly became, I had no idea I’d missed it until about halfway through the week.
- The many balls I have dropped. Like last week’s post. If this were a performance, I’d be booed off the stage. The play I’m in goes up in two weeks. Have I so much as glanced at my lines outside of rehearsal? No.
- My inability to help and support friends and family the way I want. I know I’ve spread myself thin and can’t take on any more, even without the consideration of physical limitations at 33 weeks pregnant. But I would have loved to help my theatre troupe with writing a grant or helping publicize our upcoming events.
- Not writing. Oh, I’ve written, but I can’t tell you the last time I wrote anything story-wise. Which is a great way to contribute towards my overall lack of functionality. This point bothers me the most, especially when the word from literally everyone giving me advice is that I will not be able to accomplish anything outside of doing my best to figure out how to take care of this baby for the first few months.
So you know that idea that I should do what I can, seize wha productive moments I can while pregnant? That has become a toxic ideal for me. Because I spend most of my spare moments trying to regain the energy to do simple things like eat dinner or string together coherent sentences.
I did not expect the state of being pregnant – even with the easy pregnancy some women might kill for – to take up so much time, energy, and brain-space. I did not expect the standard stress and chaos of the day job to erupt into this chaotic inferno that will require regular, significant overtime for the foreseeable future. (Seriously, full-time work maxes me out in the time, energy, and brain-space departments. How much worse will things become with this kind of overtime?)
Someday soon, I hope to stop harping on my failures. I’m struggling to accept them, to find forgiveness for myself and to stop thinking in terms of failure.
Can I figure this out before the baby comes? I really, really hope so.