It was time.

Another night where I sat in my bed, trying to sleep. Willing myself to close my eyes and fall out. Longing for a peaceful transition from crawling into bed to waking up in the morning (or - who was I kidding? - during the night when I'd wake up to go to the bathroom).

I lay there, tears pooling in my eyes, thinking to myself how impossible this would be if I had to experience months of it. How would I ever get to sleep again?

Motherhood loomed before me. I thought to myself that once this baby came it would be even worse. I'd be on an erratic schedule and never know which end was up. I had no misconceptions that sleep would come easily to myself or my newborn, knowing full well that I would sleep when he or she did, assuming I could.

But what if I couldn't? This baby wasn't going to arrive for a few months. How could I last that long like this? How could I continue once the baby arrived? Would I be able to do it? I rolled to my side. Did I have to?
What was I going to do? I listened to my husband's deep breathing as he lay still beside me. I wanted to stifle him with a pillow. I didn't - but man, I totally wanted to. He was going to become a parent, too. Why wasn't he awake - tossing and turning with these fears? It was completely unfair. I was worse than restless, I was terrified. Wide-eyed. Hopeful and hopeless all at once.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling. A stream of light streamed in through the blinds as I tried to block it out. The tears fell down my face, streamed down my cheeks. Covered my pillow. I'd had enough. I needed help. And I needed it now.
With the purpose of transparency, I don't remember (now) exactly how long was left in my pregnancy at the time. But it honestly doesn't matter. One week, one month, less, more ... these are the moments in which I recognized what I needed.

And because this topic is so important to me, I am also using this post to link up with Shell at Things I Can't Say and her Pour Your Heart Out Meme tomorrow.

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