It was at 6:30 this morning as I hovered over the toilet, dry heaving and crying so uncontrollably that I thought I might fall over from shaking that I realized I need help.  No.  That's not true.   I've known I've needed help for a while now.  It was in that moment over the toilet that I finally decided that I'm going to ask for help.

For several weeks now, I've been trying to pretend everything's okay.  That I'm okay.  But I'm not.  This pregnancy has been so hard.  The nausea and fatigue and constant and unrelenting.  I stopped taking Zoloft, an antidepressant, before I got pregnant because it's not safe during pregnancy, and I think I'm suffering a bit of depression.  I just want to sleep all day.  Because when I'm asleep is the only time the nausea eases up.  The only time I don't have to think about how I can't do all that I have to do.

I've gotten so far behind on laundry that my kids don't have clean clothes to wear to school.   Last night W rummaged through his dirty clothes pile just to find something to wear to bed.  It's' for them that I'm admitting my need for help.  I can't stand to cook because the smell of cooking food makes me nauseated.  They've been finding their own food lately.  And that's why I need to finally come out and admit that I can't do it.  For them.

So I guess this is how I ask for help.  I know I have friends who will read this and come to my aid.  I can't call them and ask personally for help.  I don't know why.  But I can write.  So that's what I'm doing.  I've somehow managed to pull myself together during day care hours and still provide care for those children, but when the day is over, I'm too exhausted to do anything else.  I feel like I need to write more. To explain more, but I'm just too tired to even do that.