It's February 1st, and I woke up this morning feeling the full weight of that. It means I'm having a baby next month. All the people I know due around the same time I am seem so calm and put together and excited. But me? I'm a wreck. I am excited, but mostly I'm nervous, I'm in denial, and I feel completely unprepared. Not as much mentally and emotionally (but that too!), but more to the effect that I have so much to do. I made a list last week of things I want/need to get done around the house and things we need for the baby, and let's just say it's two pages long with a teensy font. I'll admit that some things on the list are ridiculous, such as washing couch slipcovers and reorganizing the pantry, but I'm nesting so hard that I've become a woman possessed. I'm obsessed with cleaning and organizing and reorganizing and redecorating and rearranging and crafting and knitting and list-making, and most importantly, stressing over all of it. I've become completely irrational. Irrational! I actually lost sleep one night over the fact that the trash can needs to be scrubbed. I'm frightening myself. I'm frantic! I'm a lunatic! I can't calm down unless I'm able to cross something off my list, but I've been having trouble sleeping, work is draining, my sciatic nerve is on fire, and by the time I get home all I can do is lay on the couch and eat bagels.
The good news is, we've made a lot of progress in the last week. Last weekend James and I drove to Cincinnati to go to Ikea. I got really excited when I saw the juice glasses I bought a few years ago. A few days after I bought them, one broke in the sink. I grabbed a replacement glass on Saturday, and since Ikea doesn't have bags and doesn't wrap anything when you check out, the cashier put the glass in a basket with a few other small things. As James tossed the basket into trunk of the car, I heard it. The glass. It shattered. We had owned it less than five minutes and it had already broken. Apparently I am not meant to have these glasses. Thankfully I had a cinnamon roll to dull the pain. And then I dulled the pain some more with a hot chocolate and a bacon cheeseburger. At the same time, because pregnancy and hormones. But that's not the point! The point is that we got the baby a dresser and spent the week painting it and picking out knobs for the drawers, which included two trips to Hobby Lobby and a total of 2 hours standing in the knob aisle picking up knobs and putting them back and picking them back up again. We finished it last night and it's perfect, despite the less-than-perfect paint job, but that's what happens when you paint during the evenings. And now I'm doing crazy things to our dining room including shelves and hanging mugs, and if I don't find new curtains soon I think my kidneys will explode. We had to throw out my desk Friday night to make room in the nursery and it nearly killed me. I've had it since I was 7! I used to put my Nancy Drew books on it and write letters with my glitter gel pens, then I put my spelling bee trophy and varsity swimming letters on it. When I moved into my first apartment in college, I wrote my french essays and literary research papers and poems on it, and I've hauled it to every apartment since. I'm a sentimental loon on a good day, so just imagine me with these hormones. I had to lock myself in another room and turn up the music while James took it to the dumpster. It was time; it had a good life. That thing was so banged up no one would want it.
This is how ridiculous I've become. I'm writing odes to my childhood desk.
To make me even crazier, we had out hospital tour last week. I had been looking forward to it all week, and I was so excited to be able to finally visualize exactly where I'll be when I have the baby. The hospital we chose is gorgeous and new and looks more like a hotel/spa than a hospital. We adore it. All the couples on the tour with us looked bored out of their minds (especially the lady wearing TMNT pajamas and sporting half a beard), but James and I were up front, oohing and ahhing over every detail.
And then we were shown the labor and delivery room and everything changed.
The room itself looked like a spa. It was huge, there was a wall of windows and a couch and a huge tub and it was all very modern. It was exactly where anyone would want to give birth. Except for the bed. The room itself was nice and dim, except for the actual spotlights shining down on the bed. No one told me there would be so many bright lights! The second I saw it, I reached back to grab James and held on for dear life. To make things worse, the tour guide then showed us that once it was time to deliver, the stirrups would come out, more lights would shine, and mirrors!!!!!!!! would pop up in case we want to watch the birth (WHY GOD WHY). It was then that I started to lose my balance and almost my dinner. I was able to keep it together for the most part and actually left really excited to give birth, but then I woke up Friday morning and had the mother of delayed reactions. I awoke in a panic that only got worse as the morning went on. All I could think about was the fact that I have to lie in that bed, undressed from the waist down, and deliver a baby while spotlights are shining on me and the entire world watches. PEOPLE WILL BE LOOKING AT ME. WITH LIGHTS. THE INHUMANITY OF IT ALL. I started hyperventilating and burst into tears while brushing my teeth. I texted my mom all morning in hysterics wondering why women do this to themselves. All I wanted to do was shut the whole process down. I quit! I give up. I will no longer be giving birth. If I must, I will pull a Tobias Funke and become a never-nude. It's a solid plan, don't you think?
I've been in denial ever since. I'm feeling a little better (homemade chocolate chip waffles tend to have a calming effect), but one thought about that bed of torture and I start to lose it again. I know, I know that it will be worth it/it's temporary/women do this every day, but sometimes I need to freak out. It's all part of how I process things and come to terms with it. I'm trying not to think about it and I'm focusing on my list instead, which has become the bane of James' existence. He has never hauled out more trash to the dumpster than he has in the last week. Bless him. But if he wants to start sanding and painting the changing table, that's cool too.
The crafty bug has hit me hard, and that's frightening considering I have the skills of a kindergartner. I've already made a few noticeable mistakes in the very basic blanket I'm knitting, so I can't wait to see all the ways I'll botch the curtains and mobile I'm going to work on in the next few weeks. Just know that I'm not going to be able to sleep until it's all finished. But the good news is that I scrubbed the tile in the shower this afternoon and I have bacon cheeseburger soup in the crockpot (I need you to know that there are tater tots on it). Just because I'm not watching the Superbowl doesn't mean I can't eat like I am, you feel me? And I'm going to go display my grandma's vintage fiestaware on my new shelves and hang up instagram pictures in our bedroom and vacuum up the dead stink bugs on the floor where my desk was. Glamorous.
And now I'm going to go write that all on my list just so I can cross it off and take a deep breath.
Or maybe I'll reorganize the books on the bookshelves instead? Or go through my yarn stash?
Send help and hot chocolate.