Lately we’ve been vacillating pretty wildly between feeling ready for Squatch to get here to not being ready at all. Sometimes in the course of a few minutes.
Like yesterday, when we were working on straightening things up around the apartment and in the halted Squatch Den, Karli and I were talking about Squatch getting a move on with this whole baby-cooking thing. Then we started thinking about all the crap we still needed to get done before Squatch gets here and we switched to telling that kid to stay put till we can get everything settled. Then those Braxton Hicks pains kicked in again, and we (mostly Karli) started hoping for a delivery in the near future. Hey, we contain multitudes.
I think a lot of this coms from the paralysis reflex. You know the one—when there’s so much to do that you don’t know where to start and you freeze, shut down, watch Mythbusters all weekend. Maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s just me.
In any case, I think that’s what this back-and-forth comes from—the feeling of not knowing which way to move. I start doing the dishes and the voice in the back of my head says, “What are you doing? This doesn’t help Squatch! You’re not preparing for that kid! NOW IT’LL NEVER GET INTO COLLEGE!”
So I go to organize the Squatch Den and start packing things up to get as ready for the move as we can before Squatch gets here, then the voice pipes up again. It says, “You can’t just leave the dishes! That’s unsanitary! You want Squatch to get TAKEN AWAY BY SOCIAL SERVICES?”
That damn voice needs to shut up. I’ve got a million things to do, and the last thing I need is a micromanaging jackass second-guessing everything I do.
I actually can’t wait for Squatch to get here. Because that’s when everything becomes simple, right? Once you become a parent, you know exactly what you’re supposed to do at every point in time. Isn’t that the way it works?