It's official. I'm all used up. The well has run dry. There's no room at the inn and whatever other metaphors you can think of for being completely and utterly worn out. Even my typing skills are failing me. So far, in this blog alone, I've had to correct about ten different typos already (ironically enough, I misspelled typos as tpos and had to go back and fix it.)
Maybe it's the giant baby I'm growing inside of me that is now resting deeeeeeeep within my pelvis causing me to pee a little everytime I sneeze. Maybe it's the hips that seize up every time I walk more then 5 steps. It could be the teething baby who has rediscovered her love of my "empty since the stick turned blue" breasts and has made dry suckling into an artform. Maybe it's waking up with said baby at 5:00am yesterday morning and again today at 4:00am.
Then of course there's the apartment that seems to dirty itself everytime I turn my back and the seemingly endless list of things to do before we move into our dream house. The drunks that line the river and try and reach into my buggy everytime I walk past definitely don't help matters. Nor does the ridiculous amount of dog poo that people feel free to leave in the footpaths which inevitably ends up on the wheels of the buggy.
Mix into all of this the guilt that I feel when I snap at my partner or feel as though I'm being less then the perfect mother and girlfriend (bullshit I know, but hey, you try controlling your feelings when you're seven months pregnant and then get back to me) and that constant battle between wanting to do more and knowing that if I even try to add another item to the list, my already stretched sanity will snap completely and everything will come tumbling down.
It just seems as though all of my time is taken up doing the the things I have to and that as hard as I try, there never seems to be enough time for the things I want to. Or maybe today's just one of those days...