G-D, I'm tired!

I am so not used to this level of tiredness. Today, Nana, N and I went to the fairgrounds to preview the floats and balloons for the upcoming parade. We then picked up Subway and went to the park. We walked around the park a bit in this goofy 85 degree weather (why can't it stay 70 for a full week?), which left me worn and ragged. I'm huffing and puffing and can't get to my couch fast enough, and the whole time I'm thinking, "What is wrong with me? Why can't I handle this? It's not like I'm walking that much."

So then I try to think rationally about this. Ok, when I was pregnant with N I was teaching middle schoolers, which while certainly tiring in it's own way is not the same as having a 3-year-old with you 14 hours a day. I was also 4 years younger and not getting poochy at the hottest time of the year for our part of the country. And I was just probably in better shape, although this statement suggests that I've ever really been in shape at all (being thin doesn't mean being in shape--there are plenty of people bigger than me who are in much better physical health).

My body is totally pregnant, but my brain hasn't quite caught up. Another case in point:

At Subway, as I was getting our drinks, a man asked me when I was due. Now this is the second time someone I don't know has asked me this out in public, and it is the 2nd time I have stood there stupidly thinking, "Is this person talking to me?" There is a brief pause on my part, and then I respond, "Uh... yeah.... Um..... October."

I'm really not a dumb-ass (although I can find a world of people who would strongly disagree). I wonder on some level if this is a form of denial with me, although far less obvious and ridiculous as saying, "It's a hairball," which was my usual response whenever people asked me questions when I was pregnant with N.

I have always had a poor imagination. As a child I never had an imaginary friend, although I did pretend Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran was my husband (which I guess in truth only serves to illustrate my poor taste, not poor imagination). Anyway, I guess I can't wrap my brain around stuff until it happens, even when I know what to expect (or at least somewhat what to expect).

N will talk about the baby, and it makes me feel weird when she does this. This morning she was jumping on our bed and said to me, "Lift your shirt so I can see the baby." I did and she said, "Baby, I hope you like me." I don't encourage discussion of the baby, although I don't put the kibosh on her when she talks about the baby. I know it's my anxiety waiting for the shit to fly...for the bad new bear to come along and fubar my pregnancy. I don't know when other women start to let this fear drop, but it seems to follow me the entire pregnancy (and then morph into something altogether worse after the kid comes---at least that is what happened in the past). Ah ha! Another reason why I don't think much about October.

Can't wait til bedtime when my body and conscious mind cannot trouble me for a bit.