I woke up with "hot-feet" and really sore legs at about 3 in the morning one night. I considered asking Conrad to massage them for me, but I knew he would say no because he had work. Also he hates giving massages. Pulling teeth, I swear. So I got up and went into the bathroom to soak my legs in the tub, all the while getting more and more mad that Conrad was peacefully asleep with his non-tingly feet.
After the soak, I tried rubbing them myself, but it's just not the same. If you're a massage lover, you know what I'm saying. So I decided rather than lay there next to my sleeping husband (who I wanted to punch in the face at this point), I'd get up and try to do something productive.
Naturally, at 3:30 am, I chose to give our whole house a deep clean. I did the dishes as loudly as I possibly could. I slammed dishes around and turned on all the lights and brooded some more about my horrible-wonderful husband (now starting to stir from all my clamoring). He came out and was irritated that I was being so loud, and I was mad that he was so oblivious to my discomfort, and then I stopped cleaning, he went back to bed, and I tried to cool my stupid feet down on the couch while I cried. I cried about Ninners and my cankles. I cried about how our kitchen remodel hasn't even started yet. I cried that I was still pregnant.
People aren't kidding when they say it's really only the last few weeks that are hard. Really freaking hard, made worse by utter lack of sleep and full-body discomfort.
I love pregnancy stillllllll??