It's just been a rough week. Nothing really wrong, but somehow feeling stretched to the edge of my resources in terms of time, energy, money, etc. We're hoping to have a second kid, and on good days I think it's a great idea -- sibling for Kavi, less likely that we'll obsess about her in that parents-with-one-child sort of way, more love to go around. But on bad days (and this week has had a lot of bad days), I think: we've taken almost two years to finally come to a reasonable equilibrium, a balance of teaching work and research/writing work and play and childcare and even a little time as a couple. How can we possibly add pregnancy + infant + two children's needs into that mix and stay sane? I keep telling myself that at worst, it'll be a year or so of exhaustion and misery, and that it'll be worth it in the long run. But on bad days, I'm not so sure.
It doesn't help that we're in a holding pattern elsewhere too. We're waiting on some financial/job news before we decide whether we're going to try to move this spring or not. The waiting is killing me. I hate waiting. And I love our beautiful condo, but daily it seems more and more crammed to the gills with stuff. (Especially with the nanny share, which has brought Gavin's stuff into our living room on a daily basis: playmat, swing, pack-n-play). If we're going to move to Oak Park, I want to just go ahead and make the damn move already -- at least put our place on the market, and if we get an offer (which seems likely, because thank god, our area has somehow managed to hold value despite the economic mess), go ahead and start looking at actual honest-to-god houses. Houses which might actually have a separate study for me, which is starting to feel like more and more of a necessity. A room of my own where I can close the damn door.
I love Kevin and Kavi and teaching and festival planning and friends -- I love it all, but it feels like my days are filled with people. And especially when Kavi is needy and clingy and wants nothing more than to climb all over mama, digging her feet and elbows into every sensitive body part, I just start feeling trapped. Maybe it's the thought of being pregnant again that's making me so stressed out about it, the thought that soon, if all goes well, my body will be taken over again by this alien entity, twisting it out of shape, making me ill for nine months, exhausting me. I am so tired already. Yes, I know, these are the dark middle-of-the-night thoughts, and I'll feel better in the morning. I know that. But it's hard to feel the optimism right now.
Time to try to sleep again. If that fails, I suppose I might as well get up for the day. Four hours of sleep is plenty to go on with, right? For the fourth night in a row...