Texas. Summer. Third Trimester.

Nuff said.

I hesitated to even write this post, because its content is in direct conflict with the title of the blog. Other than kicks reminding me my little babe is alive and quite well, there is almost nothing felicitous about the third trimester, especially if it’s above 65 degrees in my immediate vicinity. So, as of Tuesday night:

Right now, I’ve been “too hot” for hours. If I turn the thermostat down any further, I’ll probably freeze my children out of their beds. By the way, Miryam still isn’t asleep yet at a quarter past nine. She went to bed at 8. She needs about 12 hours of sleep a night. As exhibited by my having to awaken her at 8:15 this morning after going to bed at 7:45 last night. And then I had to yell “1, 2, 3, 4…” (five is when consequences are instituted) multiple times to get her to go potty, put clothes on, come back to the bathroom to brush your teeth, please; put on your shoes!!—to get her into the car early enough to be only five minutes late for preschool.

I can’t make her go to sleep. I know she’s tired! Perhaps I’ll start making her go to bed before her little brother…I know she would resent that, but if she is going to play and sing in her bed for an hour and then want to sleep in and still get ready for the day slowly, just, no.

So, clearly, I’m irritable at this hour of internal heater meets sunny-and-80-degrees today.

It’s not even really summer yet! I dread July. I guess one felicity is that I won’t be pregnant in August. (Please, baby, please come after 37 weeks but before August.) (Due date is July 28th.) (But I have a history of going over my due date.) (I’m really hoping for a 40th week of pregnancy baby this time. Right before or on the due date. Totally “fully cooked” but not a single second overdue.)

The other thing is my brain doesn’t even work.

So. Not. Functional.

That is how I’ve felt the last few weeks. As I crossed the threshold from second trimester to third with this pregnancy, I began to be able to almost feel my brain cells dying by the day.

I can’t multitask.

Singular tasks take me way longer than they should, because every interruption—an inevitable reality with kids—derails my train of thought. I feel like that infamous frog in the well: two hops forward, one slide back, on and on.

If I don’t write something down, I’m quite certain it will be forgotten.

Obviously, I haven’t had a chance to formulate or complete a blog post in a few weeks! It requires so much brain. Pregnancy brain isn’t real brain. This brain no work.

The Saturday before Easter, we went to the farmers market. I try to keep the stroller as light as possible, so I left my wallet in the car; Justin had his. When we got home, I still left it in the car. When Justin left for Tulsa for work for the week on Sunday night, I’d still left it his car. On Monday as I was making plans to go to the grocery store, I could not find my wallet. Only then did I remember leaving it under the seat in Justin’s car, and not remember ever getting it back out.

Oh boy. The kids and I could have survived on Easter leftovers and cereal all week, but I was signed up to take dinner on Tuesday to a friend who had just had her second baby, and I didn’t have what I needed for her meal, and her family has dietary restrictions that would make it difficult to change the menu last minute based on my regular pantry stock. At the store, I attempted to write a check, forgetting they would want to see my ID. I stood bewildered in the crowded customer service area—my cart full of bagged, unpaid-for groceries, my kids bothering each other, the nice gal trying to negotiate with her manager on my behalf—for a good ten minutes. Finally, the lady helping me suggested I set up payment through the store’s app using my credit card, since I have the numbers memorized from 5 years of use and plenty of online shopping. Thankfully that went over easily once she thought of it! But I was a mess of adrenaline by the end of it.

Not having my wallet did, however, prevent me from succumbing to the temptation of taking the kids to Chick-fil-a instead of fixing them a grilled cheese sandwich or leftover ham at home.

See, the pregnancy brain is getting me right this minute: 15 minutes ago I thought of another example of the pregnancy brain in action (slash…brain not in action?) to share, but now I can’t remember what it was!

…So, like, I can’t even use logic to remind myself to chill the heck out, especially toward the children, who just want my attention, which I keep bestowing on other tasks instead of them, because I can’t complete tasks in a timely manner because of interruptions, and I can’t prioritize properly, because brain can’t even.

“Nesting” has also made its appearance, and it’s kinda not helping the paying attention to the children issue, although also I am getting stuff done.

This past weekend I helped put on a retreat at my church: one where I knew I wouldn’t get to sleep enough. I’d spent the better half of Friday at the church helping set up. Then I came home, put kids down for their naps, and knew in my 50%-power brain that I should try to take a nap myself. But suddenly, I felt a burst of gumption, which I’d been lacking for weeks as I repeatedly skipped over “deep clean the shower” on my to-do list.

Today was the day!

Bleach and launder that shower curtain, bend over and put some elbow grease into scrubbing those tiles, and while I have the bleach out, let me take care of the small pile of kids’ clothes with orange juice and mud stains on them, and while I’m doing all this laundry, might as well just keep the assembly line going till all of it is clean, since I’m leaving for 30 hours on the retreat and like my family might run out of clothes during that time if I don’t wash them ALL. Not to mention there’s a funky smell in the fridge and I can’t figure out what’s causing it, so today is probably the best day to take out and thoroughly wash all the drawers and shelving from in there.

It wasn’t until I was too deep to turn back from each of these tasks Friday that I realized I was nesting, and that none of them were as urgent as my non-functional brain was telling me they were.

It was felicitous, however, to shower in a sparklingly clean shower Saturday morning, and to NOT have to do any laundry on Sunday evening. So. Not completely superfluous activities. Just terrible timing. It’s Tuesday night and I’m still definitely not over the immense expenditure of energy combined with lack of sleep from the weekend.

At least the baby is kicking away and not yet in a painful manner (most of the time not painful). And I’ve barely had heartburn today. And lying here on the bed (no blankets) with the fan on and the air conditioning not fighting against sunlight anymore, I’m finally cooling off. Hopefully enough to sleep. On my side only, of course, because the belly is too big now for my preferred front or back sleep positions. See, there I go complaining again.

Welcome to the third trimester.

I do have a prayer intention I’m trying to remember to constantly offer up my third trimester for, but I need A LOT of reminding to offer up my discomfort instead of just wallowing in it.

Suffering can be purposeful and even fruitful! I probably need to put up notes to myself throughout my house and in my car to remind myself. Because honestly when my feet are on the verge of swelling and the kids are not immediately doing what I asked, it’s difficult to swallow my irritation and be loving.

Big. Sigh.

So, there’s your glimpse into the sometimes-non-felicity of my domesticity. Just to keep it real.