Burning the candle at both ends (and the middle)...

I am an overachiever. I do too much.  I take on enormous projects. I say Yes to almost everything. I do this, because  I love my friends, I adore my community, I am an artist, and I have a very fulfilling career. And it’s not like I have kids… right? In the last few weeks, it has become increasingly apparent that something is going to have to give. I’m so tired I can barely keep my head up. In fact, I’m really forcing myself to write this post… the couch is looking pretty sexy and I’m thinking we are going to have to make out. I bailed on two meeting with my theater company today. I’m going to be directing a great show in February and I just can’t wrap my head around how that is even going to happen. I can’t even wrap my head around carving a pumpkin for Halloween right now. In fact, I would really like some baby carrots to munch on, but I really am not sure if I have what it takes to get to the fridge. I don’t have the “morning sickness” – some mild nausea but nothing I can’t manage. I haven’t broken out like a 14 year old working the fryer at Krystal Burger. I’m sure these symptoms could be lurking around the corner, so I’m not being smug or anything (Welllll, I haven’t puked ONCE! Ha!). I will say my other three symptoms are more than making up for the lack of barfing or zits. My boobs hurt so bad I may kill something – likely the goddamn puppy who keeps jumping up on my titties like it’s a new hobby. (Yes, we have a puppy. It goes along with the house we bought three months ago, and the other four animals we already had.  See “overachiever with no children” explanation at the top of this post). I also am so bloated that I don’t think anything I own will ever fit again. This is like PMS times 1,000 plus gorging on Chinese food bloat. I feel like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. I am made of gas. So right now I’m a gassy, bloated, tired woman – who can’t sleep on her stomach. Yet, being an overachiever I have checked a few things off of my list.  I have done the following this weekend: Made an appointment with a traditional doctor’s group (not excited, not thrilled, and not looking forward to it) Made an appointment with a birthing center (very excited, very thrilled, totally looking forward to it) Contacted my preferred doula for beer this week (I won’t be drinking, shut up, stop worrying) Bought bigger bras, more yoga pants, and impulse purchased a pair of maternity jeans (damn you Target) (Quick word on the jeans – they were the perfect length and I’m only 5′ – so it seemed like a good idea. I put them on and OH MY GOD MY LIFE WAS CHANGED. I’m starting to think that women don’t get “frumpy” when they become moms, it’s just that they have had tasted of the fruit of comfortable and now they cannot go back. Man, those jeans are comfy). I should have more interesting things to write about, but football is on, my tiny dog wants to cuddle, the puppy is chewing on something that isn’t expensive, the husband isn’t trying to call members of the Tea Party  – and the couch is still...