Can I borrow a cup of patience?

Well. Here it is.

Rick’s first day back to work.

Remember how I was sort of looking forward to it?

I may have overestimated my feelings.

Oh – it’s nice to have a silent house. And I’ve always loved a man in uniform so watching him get dressed was a treat.

But now what?

Seriously…

I’m not allowed to do anything – well much of anything anyways.

I’d like to get out and clean the windows outside the house they’re filthy and getting on my nerves. But I can’t carry the bucket and reaching, even with the squeegee, is not allowed.

I’d like to strip the beds and get the linens out on the clothesline – it’s a fine day on clothes. But I can’t carry laundry or reach to the clothesline.

My garden is crying out for some love – but again the bending reaching thing is out of bounds.

If I were a girly girl I’d paint my toenails and fingernails to be all ready for the sandal season. But I’m not and I seem to have misplaced my one and only bottle of polish. Plus I can’t imagine painting my toes with this belly.

Sigh. Blah! Grr, and a few other onomatopoetic sounds.

I know a healthy baby is going to be worth all of this confinement. I know that the very second I hear her cry and see her face I’ll have forgotten all about these feelings of irritation. I know all of this – but as I’ve often said – you can’t control the way you feel. And today I’m – well I don’t know what I am – but the contented definitely isn’t it.

How is it possible that some women survive being completely on bed rest for the majority of their pregnancies? They’ve obviously got more patience than I do.

If I don’t figure something out soon you’re going to be reading about some crazy pregnant lady whose head exploded.

How long until the kids get home?