Self-portrait: Week 30 - Grouch

I've reached that point in my pregnancy where I'm just a bi-polar grouch. Not all the time, but often enough. I can't help it. I think I've mentioned this before on my blog, but I'm too grouchy to go link to it.  Sometimes I can be so happy and chipper or just normal.  And other times I just feel like being mean to everyone in my path.  Growl!

I don't know what it is.  The happiness is fairly normal.  I mean, I think I'm normally a pretty happy and friendly person.  I hope I am.  I aspire to be.

But for the grouchiness, I don't know.  I think maybe my brain just gets so focused on growing this tiny human and trying to keep my other tiny humans alive that I just can't focus on being social and outgoing or even pleasant some times.  I don't want to chat with cashiers I don't know.  (And that can be a big deal here in the Midwest.)  I don't want to make new friends.  I don't want to have people over for dinner or host playdates or plan big social events.  (Not that I'm not willing to participate!  But to having to do any of the associated work?  Not so much.)


I try not to be too grouchy with my family, but sometimes I literally cannot help it.  It's like I can see myself and hear myself being a grouch, but I physically cannot stop myself.  Poor Josh has wanted to play a board game with me all day and I just. Don't. Want. To.  I'm sorry Joshie, ordinarily playing Spongebob Operation would be fine.  But today?  I'd rather clean the bathrooms.  And I hate cleaning the bathrooms.


Then there's Cole, who loves nothing more than to snuggle on my lap and give me big, wet, slobbery kisses.  Sometimes I just love this and eat it up.  But other times I don't want him sitting on my already tender belly and be given a spit-bath.


Spencer wants to be the center of the universe and whine about everything in existence.  Okay, that's never okay and I never like that.  But my current state of mind certainly isn't helping matters.  Because I can be in a totally happy mood and then he'll be, you know, Seven Years Old, and suddenly I'm Mommy the Grouch.


Lance is smart.  This is his fourth time through this crazy pre-natal bi-polar-grouch-fest and he's learned to just keep quiet and ride the storm.  I love him for that.  It also bugs me.  But mostly I love him. 


Grrrrr...