This weekend was basically one giant meltdown for me.
I am sneakily suspicious of the hundreds of pregnancy hormones surging through my body, resetting every emotion inside of me from neutral to crazy. Yes, they are the ones to blame.
Regardless, it didn’t stop me from becoming a blubbering mess more than once.
This pregnancy has been difficult for me.
I know I join the ranks of hundreds of thousands of women who have uttered similar laments.
But tonight I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at the dusk turning into the gray of evening, feeling hot tears pour down my face onto my growing belly.
I had just said something unkind to my husband. My mood has been a constant roller coaster these past few days, and I was regretting letting my irritability get the better of me.
This weekend was an exciting one for us. We moved into a bigger apartment and started setting up the nursery for our baby girl.
Maybe it was the wonderfully crushing reality of an imminent addition to our family.
Maybe it was attending a new ward, where the number of newborns practically outnumbers the parents. Maybe it was the sleepless nights battling increasingly sharp sciatic pain and burning acid reflux.
But something inside me snapped.