I have been feeling pretty bad about myself lately because I'm just not one of those women who handle early pregnancy well. My apartment gets ridiculously messy on the weekends. The laundry piles up and spills onto the floor. My son eats store-bought muffins instead of homemade muffins. I wear the same large (and so, so, so comfortable) shirt two days in a row. I shower every other day instead of every day.
But! I keep our home pretty spotless Tuesday through Saturday. I still muster up enough energy to work, even if my turnover time is a little bit slower than usual. I make sure the dishwasher runs every night. I plop my baby in the sink when he needs a haircut and I breeze through that haircut as quickly as possible. I let Maxwell play outside on the porch all day unless he's eating or sleeping and rotate activities for him. I read up on pregnancy and try to navigate toddlerhood so that I know when, exactly, I should box up the highchair. I sleep. I feed the dog and take him outside. I make dinner, even if that dinner is cold cereal.
And, y'know, I think that means I'm doing pretty well, even on days when I can barely keep my eyes open.