Am I aggressively ‘nesting’ or am I an antisocial, misanthropic hermit?

I shared a post to the facebooks the other day that went a little something like this:
”Got the guilts.
Haven’t been walking my miles like I had been.
Haven’t been doin my morning preggo yoga.
Been enjoying the sugar and the bread.
Haven’t gotten to the post office, the store, the consignment place, or the art shows.
Flaked on more plans than I’ve kept.
All I wanna do is sleep and vegetate and bathe and feel time pass so I can hang out with this tiny dictator, new bff, ball of leaking smoosh, and have this new mom job already.
Ambitious and restless meets ever expanding burning flesh body of winded catharsis means total body disconnect.
⛈⛈⛈⛈
Thanks for being my friends still, friends.”

The overwhelming response was that of comfort in the shape of well wishes and “don’t be concerned’s” and alla that is just about being third trimester pregnant. A lot of “listen to your body” and such.
Good advice, love my friends, and yes.

....but.... but... how do I do that?

Except mixed signals. That’s the problem.
The Body is all:

• I AM HUNGRY! I ACHE! FEED ME! STOP MOVING! STAY HOME! LAY DOWN! BACK PAIN <yowch> BELLY KICKS <thwap thwap> FARTGASFART!
  

My Mind is all:

• YOU SHOULD BE PAINTING, WALKING, EATING HEALTHIER, SLEEPING LESS, BREATHING DEEPER, HAVING SEX, REACHING OUT, GOING PLACES, DOING THINGS, TIMES INFINITY!

My Heart is all:

• I love. I hate. We love. We hate. Let’s love. Let’s hate. But looooove.

My Hormones are all:

• RAGE! RAAAAAAAGE! RAAAAAGE AGAINST THE DYING AND THE LIVING AND THE BRIGHTNESS OF ALL THE MUTHAFUCKING LIGHT IN THE UNIVERSE!?!?

The Pills be like:

• ”Yo, Mama, chiiiiiiill....”

...so it feels like one big organ-ized argument happening inside me all the time.
Anxiousness met with sedation,
heartburn met with spicy pickle cravings,
backaches met with desire to hike,
and nine weeks left to be amazed, befuddled, humbled, and confused. By the time I figure out which part of me I should listen to and when, Nugget is gonna be out and about, serving up cuteness and diapers the likes of which shall bring chaos to my household. I'll be battling hormone drop, baby blues, and bloody diapers of my own.
As for the past week and I'm sure the coming weeks... I don't wanna leave my house, I don't wanna go anywhere, I don't wanna do much, and I don't wanna see anyone. Other preggo mamas tell me (and sourced me) that's a sign of nesting.

"One of the few formal studies, conducted in 2013, found that pregnant women spend more time cleaning and organizing their home than women who aren't pregnant. They're also more selective about the company they keep and more likely to prefer sticking close to home." (link)

But with this internal cocktail of hormones and prozac, I have no idea how to find the root of anything happening inside me anymore.
I have a few theories though... mystical maybe's that might explain the why's.
Why don't I want to go for walks in the chilly sunshine?
(Maybe it's because I'm so over thinking about my life and my failed relationship that I literally can't take anymore so my bodily instinct of emotional self-preservation is taking over?)
But what about a short stroll with friends?
(Maybe because the Nugget Cave feels like a goddamn cannonball in my upper pussy area and every step I take is met by furious gravity?)
Why don't you want people over to comfort and celebrate and socialize?
(Maybe because the flu epidemic is insane and I can only apply hand sanitizer so many times before my flesh falls off)
What about yoga and practicing some of that hypnobirthing meditation?
(It makes me sleepy... and if I sleep in the day I can't sleep at night... and if I can't sleep at night all I do is toss and turn and get up to pee and binge watch Planet Earth II and Gilmore Girls)

I want this blog to thrive, this website to flourish, my mind and body to agree, my soul to be chill, my heart to heal--all these efforts PLUS growing a belly monster means...

Mallory Kate
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