Just Me Being Me?

So last night I found myself sitting on the couch, finishing up paperwork, and watching the Season Finale of Downton Abbey (don't get me started on Downton Abbey...that is an entirely different blog post!) and just started to feel exhausted. So I toddled off the to bedroom, read a few pages of my book, and turned off the light. About three minutes later, I sat straight up in bed, struck by a feeling of horrible sadness. I found myself sitting there in the dark, with tears in my eyes, thinking about how sad it was that Thursday will be my last horseback riding lesson. How melodramatic.

My husband, whom you should know went to bed early due to being sick all day, mumbled something like "...you kay?"

"No, I blurted. "I can't sleep."

"Oh."

Now, I had some choices. I could sit there in the dark and continue to dwell on my inexplicable sadness. I could accept defeat (pregnancy insomina?) and go back to reading my book. Or I could just go to sleep.

So what did I do?

I choose this moment to bring up with my husband the issue of his weight. As in, my belief that he needed to lose some. Now I know what you're thinking - Are you serious right now? and What were you thinking? Who brings up such a sensitive subject at midnight with a poor, tired, sick husband?

Apparently I do. I launch right into asking him about his diet and proposing some exercise routines, all the while feeling his hurt and defensiveness emanating at me through the darkness.

So what do I do? I keep on talking. As I talk, I'm feeling angry and sad. I'm thinking stupid things like , Why do I always have to be the mean one? and Can't he see I'm trying to help? Right. You couldn't get more cliche than this.

This goes on for awhile. Me throwing out what I see as thoughtful, caring comments, but what I know are being received as darts to his heart. Finally, in a tired voice, he says something along the lines of, "Look, I'm sick and tired and I've been throwing up. Can't we just drop this?"

Logical, right? Right. Except now I'm buzzing with fury and contemplating sleeping on the couch. What? I am not making any sense.

Suddenly I blurt out, "Well you......"

"Well I what......?" Again, he isn't angry, just tired, exasperated, and a little hurt.

I, on the other hand, and fuming with the words I didn't speak - Well, YOU don't seem excited enough about this baby.

Wait. Back up. WHAT? Where did that come from?? He has been perfectly excited and extremely happy about this whole thing. What did I expect? Flowers? Kisses on my belly? Sympathy? Coddling? Stoking my hair?

Hmmm. Yes. Probably, all of the above. Now, logically, I know a bunch of facts. I know he has been sick and has been working hard and his parents have been visiting and we both don't get home until 7 or 8 (or later) at night AND that the fact that I have a sesame seed of a baby inside of me just doesn't affect him the same as it does me. Logically, I get all of this.

But, in the dark last night I wasn't logical. I was tearful, angry, hostile, and just.......well, bitchy.

Suddenly, it stuck me. Oh my god. Is this Pregnancy talking? Are these just hormonally-induced feelings? Is this complete lack of rational thought all the fault of that little sesame-seed bundle of cells? well, then I got more angry. Damn it. That's not fair. Chemicals are making me be a bitch to my poor husband? Well, goddamnit, I......

WAIT. Stop.

So I stopped. I never said any of those thoughts about him "not being excited enough" out loud. I just sat there in the darkness while his breathing slowed and I finally allowed him some much-deserved sleep.

And I marveled. Marveled at how things you read about emotionality due to hormones or due to the momentousness of such a big change actually do come true. I am a statistic in a book. One of those sappy books that says something like "Now remember, mommies-to-be can be a little difficult or unpredictable in these months. Treat her with care and give her lots of foot massages!" Oh gag me. Is that me?

Now those of you reading this who are slightly more knowledgeable than me might be thinking. Um, but you're only five weeks pregnant. Hormones don't kick in until much, much later.

If that's the case, keep it to yourself. Because I don't want to know about it if that Monster last night was just me being me.