I am a planner. If you could press rewind and look at my bedroom during my high school years, you’d never have guessed I’d become one. Back then I was holed up somewhere between the National Geographic photographs bordering my walls, the musical instruments, athletic gear, books I read for pleasure and studying riffraff. It looked like an F5 tornado hit. Drove my parents crazy, too. But I called it my “organized chaos”. And I was happy with it.
But on the first day of my first “real job”, I walked into a nightmare of disorganization and a frightening number of things that should have been done weeks ago… all of which had looming deadlines. I realized I needed a plan of attack.
So I took a yellow legal pad and began to make a list. I put checkboxes next to each one. Then when the flow of to-dos finally stopped pouring out of my overloaded brain, I took stock of the entire 8×14 page full of what needed to get done. “Well, this won’t do.”, I thought to myself. I knew that there was too much to be done to just attack the list from top down. The many things each needed priority. What needed to be done in the next week? Few days? One day? By end of day? Before lunch? And yes… in the next hour? Hell, even in the next five minutes?
It was madness.
And I loved it.
That first day of that not-so-great first job did bless me with one thing, though. It took a kazillion-watt spotlight and turned it on full, aimed directly at my prowess for taking a gigantic mess and making it better. Fixing it, some how, some way. In my next job (my current one, actually) I earned the nickname of The Cleaner. Whatever was almost a loss, or on its last legs, or a complete fubar… give it to Peach. She’ll fix it. And my ability to be able to do so? Well, it’s all about coming up with a badass plan. And executing that badass plan.
So now that I’m 25 weeks pregnant, you can imagine that I’m neck-deep in spreadsheets of to-do lists. Things to be completed before BabyZ arrives. Guest lists for the baby shower. Gift tracking and thank you notes to be sent. I’m all over it! The organization of information brings me comfort while I slowly lose sight of my toes over this growing belly.
But there’s this little voice. I imagine this little fictional blue-fuzzied monster dude sitting on my shoulder. And he whispers to me every so often. “Peach, you think you’re ready for BabyZ, but you’re not. There’s no way you can be.”
I shoot him a side eye, thinking that he’s a big meanie-head. But I see that he’s wearing a big fluffy grin. He’s not taunting me at all. He’s trying to help me. And he’s right. The longer this pregnancy goes on, the more I realize that I am completely and utterly and terrifyingly unprepared.
I could read every pregnancy/motherhood book or blog post that exist…… and still not know everything.
I could pay so much money and take every childbirth class and breastfeeding class….. and still have a rough birth or fail completely at breastfeeding.
I can listen to every mother who has gone before and all her words of wisdom about what to expect….. and still not be ready.
I can resort to my fallback and make list upon list upon list of what the feeding schedule should be, how often he should be changed, how our finances will look, how our paternity/maternity leaves will go… and none of that will help one bit.
I can be told repeatedly that my body will become an alien being and that it will never be the same….. and still grieve that fact later on.
Because at this very moment, all I know is that I’m going to give birth to a baby boy. I don’t know what color his hair will be. I don’t know if he’ll be fussy or chill. I don’t know if he’ll have my green eyes. I don’t know if he’ll have mercy on his mother and sleep easily. I don’t know how I’LL be as a mom. And I’m going to stop there before I need an inhaler.
But look. I want you all to know that I’m not panicking over here. I think these thoughts are all a part of becoming a new mom and that I’d be a weirdo if I wasn’t a little “holyshit” about all of this change that is coming. If anything, I’m proud of myself for how I’m choosing to face all this uncertainty with a positive mindset. And I attribute that ability to the moment when I realized the following:
If there is anything in the universe that I am realizing as an expectant mother, it is that having a child will require an elegant release of all control you’ve known previously.
For me, I’m sure the transition from childless to motherhood will be anything but graceful. And yes, I promise to come here and write with bloody lack of censorship (and hopefully some humor) along the way. But in the end there is simply nothing left to do to prepare for the tidal wave of parenthood except to be immersed and figure out how to tackle whatever gets thrown our way AS IT COMES.
Choose your saying:
Give it to God.
Let it go.
Be where you are.
Is it wine o clock yet? (Just me?)
PASS THE COFFEE. (Definitely me.)
Parenthood is going to pry my white-clenched death grip fingers off my control/plan/execute philosophy no matter how much I fight it. So why bother even trying? Yes, I’ll do *some* research about sleep training. I’ll attend the childbirth classes, the breastfeeding class, tour the hospital and read alloftheblogs on what to pack for the hospital, etc. And yes, of course I want to have a reasonable plan for getting back into shape after he arrives. But I refuse to drive myself crazy trying to strap down a methodology for motherhood that I won’t even know exists until I’M LIVING IT. Plainly put, I don’t know what I don’t know.
Therefore, I choose to concern myself with what I CAN control in the meantime. My husband and I make a damn good team and we’ll figure it out along the way. Just like every other parent that came before us.
Till next time,