Friday morning I stood in the bathroom, filling the sink with my tears. All week long--despite ear plugs, Tylenol PM, and extra pillows propped around my body--I was kept from a good night's sleep by a combination of jumpy legs, sore hips, and overly active family members.
After my worst night yet, I faced Friday morning filled with exhaustion- and hormone-fueled despair. After I got the kids off to school, I pep-talked myself into just taking the first step of putting my contacts in--then at least the world wouldn't be vague and blurry. I got one contact in before I had to stop to weep some more. Pitiful.
And that, my friends, was when I realized I was really not okay. But what could I do? I was too sore and jumpy and uncomfortable to even take a nap. There was nothing doing but to keep on keepin' on. So that's what I tried to do.
The day was not a great success.
Friday night we got out the air mattress. Everything you normally hate about an air mattress, how it hammocks your hips, was great for me. I lay there and realized that for the first time in recent memory I actually felt comfortable. After a decent night's sleep, I tell you I was a different woman. Not superwoman, not ready for a jog. But functional. Competent.
I didn't cry once all day.