Back Home Again in Indiana
(If I’m being completely honest, I was hesitant to write this because there’s a possibility it’s opening up a can of judgmental worms. But then I realized I can’t be the only mentally stable pregnant woman who has these thoughts running through her head. So yes, I’m aware some of this is going to be offensive to people struggling with infertility, some of this is going to earn me the side eye, but that doesn’t make these thoughts/feelings any less valid. Everyone’s writing a different life story.)
I kept thinking I was in denial about this whole being knocked up thing, but I don’t think it’s denial so much as fear of jinxing the whole thing. In my mind, doing anything to prepare for or acknowledge this tiny human is nothing more than tempting fate. This is why it took me so long to take the maternity pants plunge, and it’s why at 5 months in, we haven’t done a single thing to prepare other than talk about getting the desk out of the office.
I know taking this kid to daycare is going to kill me. But I also know I’ll probably kill us all if I stay home with him all day. Why can I not have a part time job?
We should probably start looking into daycare, but I’m pretty sure the cost is going to give me a panic attack. How much more is a nanny? I wonder if we could get her to clean and cook dinner, too. Note to self: Google nannies.
What if this whole having a kid thing isn’t as great as everyone says it is? I mean, I doubt millions of people are wrong, but I still get wrapped up in what a big change it is – and contrary to my nomad history, I’m not the biggest fan of change. I like my routine, I know this kid is going to throw it all to hell, and I sometimes worry I’ll end up with some resentment.
I really hope I’ve inherited that parenting trait where I can invoke fear in my child without actually doing anything. Not too much fear – just enough so he thinks twice about making poor choices.
I worry about losing the husband/wife relationship in all of this. I think it’s really easy to get wrapped up 100% in being parents and forget what got you there in the first place. I really don’t want to get to the place where we take each other for granted and it all falls apart.
How soon after popping this kid out can I break out the wine? It’s not the alcoholism asking so much as something tells me wine helps with a newborn. Is this a question I can ask the doctor or is he going to call DSS as soon as I walk out the door?
If there’s anything wrong with this child, I will forever blame myself. It’ll be because of the coffee, the goat cheese, and/or the one day I forgot to take my vitamin. I’m well aware how ridiculous that is (well, maybe not the vitamin thing), but I promise you, I’ll never let myself live it down.
Sweet lady freedom what if I never lose the weight and my clothes never fit again? Or even worse – what if my feet grow and none of my shoes fit? I can’t even think about this right now.