So I come home, and Lori comes by with Ursa, which is great, and we talk about why we aren't writing our books, which is frustrating but also somewhat cathartic, and maybe it'll clear the way for actually writing our books again, who knows. And I start work on a cool knitting project for a wedding gift, and it quickly becomes clear that it will not actually be completed by said wedding, which is tomorrow. Ah well. Venu and Sendhil will get it eventually; hopefully they'll like it. I did get them some other things already, so I don't feel so bad.
Then they go, and Kavi goes down for nap and Jarmila leaves, and I lie down and try to nap, because I'd stayed up too late talking to Kevin the night before, but no luck, so I finish re-reading Thrones and Dominations, which is almost as romantic and good as Busman's Honeymoon, which is really one of the best books ever. And then Kavi wakes up and I take her downstairs and she's in a crabby mood, and I'm tired and baby boy is doing jumping jacks now and there's this new weird pinchy feeling in my uterus which is almost certainly nothing, because that's what pregnancy is like, this serious of weird aches and pains that are totally normal and nothing to worry about, but I worry anyway. And my mood starts getting darker. It's alleviated for a bit by talking with Jed on the phone, but when I get off the phone, it comes crashing down again.
And by the time Kevin comes home, I've finished making a rhubarb-raspberry pie, but that's about all I've accomplished all day and I'm really irritated with Kavi for no good reason, so I let him deal with her so I won't snap at her and I lie on the couch and watch dumb tv, getting more and more upset and angry at the world and myself. So that by the time, three hours later, that Kevin's put the child to bed and come back down, I'm basically mad enough to spit nails and am also weeping my head off. And it takes him a long time to talk me down.
I don't even really know what exactly I was so upset about. Our chaotic childcare situation, as we move to Oak Park, was the proximate cause, but there's also a massive amount of dreading the hell of dealing with an infant and concurrent lack of sleep, anxiety about breastfeeding and whether I can get it right this time, plus frustration about my only two weeks of maternity leave (which I still need to formally apply for and make sure they have someone to cover my class for). Then there's the massive dose of despair at having done so little writing this summer (I did finish a chapter of the space opera on Wednesday, which was enjoyable and satisfying and one of the few bright spots of the week; we'll see what my writing group thinks of it on Sunday). I was going to finish writing a book this summer. Maybe two. And then there's the generalized disappointment in myself as a mother and wishing I actually wanted to read the same damn books to Kavi over and over and over again, rather than handing my child off to anybody else at every opportunity. That's making me feel great about having another one coming, let me tell you.
Also, the pie was too sweet and too jellied, and the crust wasn't buttery enough. Pfui.
Kevin tells me I'm underestimating the effect of pregnancy on my moods/energy levels/etc. He might be right. Although that doesn't help so much since a) I have three months of pregnancy to go, and b) the new infant thing isn't likely to help my mood much either.
Then I slept badly, and had anxiety dreams, and woke up still cranky. So forgive my foul mood today, anyone who happens to talk to me. I'm going to try to be productive and just churn through a whole list of things to get done; I'm hoping that that will alleviate some of the self-loathing.
I deadheaded the roses and butterfly bush this morning. That was sort of satisfying. I wish I had more things that needed chopping.