The days are generally tolerable but the weeks and months drag on. Somehow, miraculously, we’ve made it to the last trimester. While I fully understand I won’t be pregnant forever, the remaining 11 weeks feel today somewhat akin to 11 months. What’s the difference, really?
I’m not exceedingly uncomfortable yet, it’s just that life support for two humans is exhausting. Working 30 hours a week and still trying to keep up with all my other commitments is exhausting. Trying to keep us from the brink of abject squalor is exhausting. Parenting Tweens who no longer hear anything I say is exhausting.