Man, am I living this one right now. The fast approaching delivery of this little seed has me, ala Cher from Clueless, totally buggin’.
I had my first proper, pregnant, hormonal meltdown recently. I’ve been an emotional wreck, sure. But this meltdown was baby-specific and it threw me for a loop. I haven’t been too worried about the baby. I’m not scared of labor, surprisingly. I feel super confident about momming, since I’ve been doing it for the last three or four years. The prospect of no sleep is a little concerning, I’ll be honest. But it’s not freaking me out.
This meltdown, however, totally freaked me out.
I was looking around one weekend and suddenly came to the crashing realization that I do literally everything around here. The boys and my husband don’t do anything for themselves when I’m around. I give them their schedules, I plan their events, sign their papers, shuttle them to lessons, make their meals, clean up after them, know where all their stuff is.
My life is just a string of “Lauren where are my shoes?” “Baby, how long do I microwave the chicken nuggets?” “Lauren, he farted on me!” “Baby, what are we doing this weekend?”
Naturally, I began to ask myself…what the hell is going to happen around here when I’m sleep-deprived, have a baby hanging from my boob all day and my nether regions are healing from being ripped to shreds?!
Is everything going to fall apart? Will I not be able to give baby enough attention? What if I can’t handle it all?
These are the string of questions my dear husband is hearing through my sobbing and snot fuled mental breakdown. Luckily, he was in a good enough frame of mind to catch my meltdown, hold it in his hands, and give back to me what I needed. He reminded me that this is a completely normal fear when embarking on parenthood. It’s normal. I’m normal. He also assured me that he and the boys will step up. They can take care of themselves. And they will.
While all of that sounds well and good, and god bless him for being such a sport with my neurosis, I still have this nagging fear that everything is going to be a big giant mess that only I can clean up. Why? Because I am big, fat control freak and no one can do what I do.
Yep, that’s my inner dialouge. Welcome to the brain of a control freak, where order is paramount and everyone else just fucks it up.
Can they take care of themselves? Sure. Can they do it as well as I? No.
So, my mission as I embark on this brand new journey of motherhood to a newborn, is to let go of the reigns just a little and get comfortable asking for help. I need to practice accepting that the house won’t look as clean and organized, the counters may not be clear, the freezer may not be stocked according to food group. But life will go on, and everyone will be happy and healthy and that is what matters most.
Eventually, everything falls back into place. I know this. I know there will be a formiddable transition period, and then the entire family will once again get their groove back. I won’t rush it. That’s my new mantra. I won’t rush the bounce back. I’ll accept the disorder while it’s here, knowing it’s temporary. And I’ll look down at this tiny human I made and know that it’s all so beyond worth it.