I all but threw the kids in their beds. No stories, no prayers even, I could barely muster a good night kiss. Then I tore off my sweaty clothes from the days labors and put on the least restrictive thing I could find. Then I sat down and let out a gasp of a prayer "to somehow get this baby here soon because my friend Tasha said that 'isn't irritability a sign of impending labor' and so I need not to be irritated anymore because I can't do it anymore please, amen." Then some sobs, then just breathing now. A call in desperation to Craig, no answer. Only a retreat to writing could un-fray these nerves.
As I warmed Hazel's bottle Seth was getting into his pajamas and peeked around the corner to assure me, "It'll be okay."
Lucy stroked my face as I tucked her in, "I love you anyways, Mommy." A line stolen from Olivia yet fit just right there between my twitching exhaustion and her sticky sweet perfection.
Hazel, somehow sensing the urgency of the moment, laid right down skipping, just for tonight, her usual objections to bedtime.
"She's got three little ones at home with one on the way." This is what is said to excuse these periodic floods of irritability. But, really, it is without them---the three little ones and the hope wrapped up in one on the way---that I would be broken and lost.