Meltdown

Despite the fact that S and I celebrated our one-year anniversary with a lovely fancy dinner out on Sunday night, it seemed that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed on Monday morning.  As soon as I arrived at work, I realized I was feeling really off.  I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong or why.  I scanned my body and tried to figure it out.  Was I getting sick?  Was I overwhelmed by a big project at work?  Did I not sleep well enough?  I just didn't feel like myself.

I continued to feel worse and worse all day long.  I was nauseous and couldn't eat my breakfast so I went downstairs to buy a muffin.  I couldn't eat my lunch, so I went out and bought a sandwich.  As I worked through the afternoon, I became more and more irritable.  I avoided interacting with my coworkers.  The little one started moving excessively on my right side.  What had the day before been cute and exciting became annoying and invasive.  I put my hand on my belly willed the movement to stop.  It didn't.  I sighed and tried to ignore it, all the while fearing how I would manage when the "flutters" turned into full-blown kicks.

After an evening of running errands at the city's most annoyingly crowded grocery store, I finally made it home to eat dinner and watch some mindless television.  And still, I felt off.  I was cranky at the TV.  I finally crawled into bed and hoped to sleep the awkward feelings away.  The little one began to move again.  S joined me in bed and put his arm around me.  I felt like I couldn't breathe. 

"Please don't touch me," I snapped.  S pulled away, confused.  "I'm not feeling well.  I need space."  And with that, I burst into tears.  I got up abruptly, left the room, and decided to sleep on the couch.  S followed me a few minutes later.

"Please leave me alone," I bawled.  "I'm not feeling good." 
"Just come to bed," he said softly.
"NO," I replied.  "Leave me alone."  So he did.

Twenty minutes later I still couldn't sleep.  My neck was sore from doing pre-natal yoga the day before.  I was restless and I couldn't lay still.  I wanted to shake my arms and legs, to run around and scream.  I wanted to turn off my brain and stop the racing in my chest.  Instead, all I did was cry.  A lot.  And then I went back to bed.  S, in an effort to respect my wishes, didn't react to my arrival.  I tapped him on the arm, forcing him to pay attention to me again.

"I don't know what to do," I said.  "I can't stand this.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  And my neck hurts."  Tears poured down my face.
"Why don't I make you some tea?" he suggested.

So he did.  We sat together in the kitchen at midnight, sipping chamomile.  I was numb from the exhaustion of managing such a weird and terrible day, but the warm liquid brought much-needed relief as I finally began to relax.  We once again returned to bed, and I fell asleep within minutes.  By Tuesday morning, I felt like myself again.  It was as if Monday had never happened. 

Hormones?  Too many to-dos?  Feeling overwhelmed by change?  I'm still not quite sure what fueled my meltdown.  Perhaps it was just a part of the process of going through such a massive life transition.  All I know now is I'm glad our little one's movements seem sweet once again.  And I'm going to stock up on chamomile tea.