I feel your pain—in every foot and backache, every sleep deprived workday, hunger-attack (this is a true situation) and stint of heartburn:
Let’s admit it—it’s rough.
To quote the title of one of my favorite Indie songs from the mid 2000’s—“Eat, Sleep, Repeat”—that’s all I want to do these days. Most of my sickness has subsided in my second trimester, and I’m feeling more like myself. There are, however, two feelings that still preggo-plague me: I’m hungry, and I’m tired. No slumber is enough, and no amount of food seems to tame the beast. Would I love to sit on my couch with an entire box of pizza before taking a post-grub siesta—heck yes! But, alas, there is no such luck for the working mommy-to-be.
I am currently working two jobs to both pursue my passion and pay my bills. Don’t get me wrong; I am grateful to have jobs and ones that I enjoy going to, at that. I always knew that I wanted to work throughout my pregnancy and continue to work full-time once baby is here. I just don’t know if I realized how hard this would be, and I’m only a little more than halfway there. For now, I am trying to squeeze in all the hours that I can in hopes for some rest later.
One of my jobs is at a restaurant where I serve tables. This has become increasingly awkward now that I have begun to show. Folks keep asking me how far along I am and comment on my new waddle. The waddle, my friends, is not from my 22 week-baby bump, but rather from the pains in my lower back, legs and feet from long hours. Soon, it will be a struggle to simply maneuver my way around the less-than-spacious dining room, as I dodge chairs, guests and all other inanimate objects. Water pitchers and stacked dishes to lift are now the enemy, and a place to sit on the stairs up to the office is now my best friend. With summer quickly approaching, this should only get more interesting in the Georgia heat. My second job is during the day at a non-profit where we are working hard to advocate for children. This is a nice break for my tootsies, but even with the squishy office chair and plethora of available snacks, it gets hard no matter the job (or two), when the pregnant gig is full-time.
This all brings me to why I am writing this. It’s really been on my brain. Why these struggles? Why do we work so hard? I can’t speak for other working mommies-to-be, or the hardworking women and men like my own parents, who worked day in and day out, and sacrificed for their children; but I do want to say this: Every single hardship is worth it for my baby girl. When I wake up in the morning, and when I fall asleep on the couch at night, it’s for her. When her dad and I see each other for no more than 15 minutes in passing in a day, we do it happily knowing she is the result.
And so, working mommies, I commend you. You go, girl.