Believe me I've tried - not very hard - but I've tried a little.
It's this little thing called motivation. I have zero right now.
No motivation for anything. Not cooking or cleaning or laundry or writing or reading (except for this book which earned a big fat fine and its sequel which is more of a meh.)
On my nightstand I have Charles Duhigg's The Power of Habit, but I've done nothing but show it to Jacob because I thought he should put the audiobook on hold. He did put the audiobook on hold and thanked me for the recommendation. Then it went back on my nightstand.
Right this moment I need to get up and switch the laundry. But I can't do it. I can't make myself move. I'm just here on my butt, not very Lentenly eating the Valentines cookies that didn't make it to Jake's buddies. Even though the washing machine is only eighteen steps round trip, staying still is just SO nice. So so nice.
All I can manage recently is getting out of the house daily. Parks and playdates and the like. Even though I'm a dyed-in-the-wool-socks homebody, I've had to get us all some space. The kids need a break from me. I need a break from me.
Because here, my friendlies, is the deal.
That would be numero tres snuggling right down into el uterus and touching down in early September, and the thing making my days a living couchfest.
So that's why I've been hiding from the blog. All I can talk about is being sick, and I hate to hate on pregnancy.
I was gonna wait to spill the news with some cutesy birth announcement on my birthday which is in like a week, but I've kinda hit bottom. We're truly and deeply stoked for this baby, but I'm losing the pregnancy game physically and mentally. My nausea antidote du jour: tell the world. So there 'tis.
WE'RE HAVING A (nother) BABY!!!!
And I'm spending yet another Lent with the not so glorious penance of: "try not to throw the cookies up."