Last night, I think the excitement was too much for me. After we got home and I had some time to settle in, I start was flooded with thoughts and felt very suddenly-behind. I kept thinking about how little time I’ve spent buying and planning for the baby. So little in fact, that we have a single onesie, nothing more for our little Cheeto.
Navajos are notoriously supersticious about buying things before the baby is born. I think some are more so in that they don’t look at the ultrasound and don’t want to know the sex of the baby. I have my moments of cultural spook, but I didn’t think much of it. A friend asked if I was going to have a shower or wait until after the baby is born. I told her I’d like a shower. I want the baby to be welcomed and to have things ready for him.
I’m a planner by nature. Frankly, I’m still sometimes surprised that this was one aspect of my life I didn’t plan. I mean I knew instinctively that I could get pregnant, but I was really silly about it in that I didn’t think I would. I know, that sounds ridiculous. I’m a therapist. I have a master’s degree in psychology and I spend my days educating people and talking about reality and the facts.
Don’t get me wrong, I want this child. We want this child. But, had I planned, I assume I wouldn’t have had as much of a freak out like I did last night. I spent time combing the internet, looking for infant car seats and reading about the best onesie to buy for a newborn. I got myself all worked up.
Michael made dinner and I cried and tried to eat. He said all the right things, but it didn’t make me feel much better. I still felt like a big slacker, like my kid would know that I was working and sleeping and living and didn’t think much about what we needed to buy.
Scratch that. I thought about it plenty, when I had another melt down about a week after we found out we were pregnant. I printed a list and got so overwhelmed by the details that I spent the evening mad at Michael because well, it seemed like a good idea..at the time. And I sat at the kitchen table and sobbed as I tried to bead. It was really silly, crying and beading aren’t activities that mix very well.
So, I’m trying to stop from freaking out and feeling like I should go out and start buying things. A lot of it is fear based. I’m worried about not being ready. I’m worried about (heaven forbid) Cheeto hopping the nest early and me having nothing ready for him to come home to.
Given, we have a lot of things planned already. We’re moving into a bigger apartment in a couple of weeks. The kid will have his own room. Family members (Michael’s) have promised baby items that we should be getting in the early winter. But, I still want us to be ready. I want the kid to have some clothes, his own blanket/bed and all that other stuff that he’ll need when he comes home.
I haven’t had any other nesting instincts kick in. I don’t feel like cleaning and I couldn’t care less about the clutter.
But, I am emotional. Little things upset me. Like friends cancelling on time together. Clients saying mean things to me because well, they’re clients and they’re not exactly in therapy because they’re well adjusted. Or not being able to get my mom on the phone. Or feeling like I’m a bad mom because I haven’t stock piled clothing and other things for our baby yet. Or not being hungry and feeling bad because I should eat, but everything sounds gross. Or feeling like taking a nap when I should be doing something else.
It’s all the shoulds that get me down.
Then, just like that I’m fine. If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d wonder if I was bi-polar or had some other mood disorder. Fortunately, I’m hormonally charged for a good reason. But sometimes, sometimes it’s still difficult. All the pregnancy books talk about this (at least I assume this is what they mean by hormonal), but it’s different experiencing it. It feels crazy to be so up and down some days and totally mellow and fine other days. But, the emotions wear off fairly quickly. That’s how I can tell they aren’t sincere. If I’m upset, it goes away before I can cry myself sick or strangle my pesky mean client. And I feel happy and that sticks, so it’s hopeful.
It’s certainly not a depression, but geez, it does get annoying when you’re watching an animal cop show and you want to drive to Florida to kill the old man who has 24 dogs locked in a back room because he, “loves” them. And not 2 minutes later you want to cry because you feel sorry for him and his old wife.
See what I mean? In pregnancy, emotion is totally an oxymoron.