I have 13 minutes left in my lunch break, and I decided that I am going to write a blog post even though I'm OCD and ADHD and perfectionistic and still finishing my lunch of left over pot-stickers. I have missed writing--it is something I do for me, but I also agonize over it. You could say writing and I have a love-hate relationship.
I'm finally coming to realize I'm going to have a baby. The end of denial is a scary thing. It's even worse when it happens in a public place: I stood next to Jay in a store to register for "things I want," scanner in hand, looking at rows upon rows of bottles, sippy cups, pacifiers, and bouncers, and my calm, I-can-do-this facade came crashing down. How on earth could I raise a baby when I have no idea what bottles to buy or how many or what the heck a nursing pad is? I think I numbly scanned a bunch of plain white onesie packs, a couple of pacifiers, and then stood there staring blankly at pack and plays for at least 10 minutes. I laughed (but cried a little inside) at the irony of a registry--I decided that anyone kind enough to buy me a gift probably has a much better idea of what I need than I do.
I have less than two months left, and I'm trying to cram in all the things I should have done months ago that I didn't feel urgency about because of blissful denial. We're touring the hospital tonight, and I'm resolving to read a couple birth/baby books before the month is over. One way or another, though, it's going to happen. I won't be perfect and won't know what's going on (my control freak-iness is really pinging over that one), but it's going to be okay.
I'm so excited to be a mom.