So. About two weeks ago it magically kicked in and it’s all I can think about. No, that’s not quite all. It’s that, and questioning my career choices, because I’ve realized I’m doing tech work at low admin salary and I’m bored right now and all this future-thinking stuff and some good conversations with coworkers prompted the renewal of an earlier plan and so on. But that’s later this week’s problem.
Because really, it’s all about the babies. I bought a shirt for my friend’s upcoming baby and it’s so freaking cute I keep squeeing at the package. (This shirt. I hope he gets Donut Tycoon. Because that’s a future we can all get behind.) I go to the doctor on Thursday. I’m killing time on the intertubes reading about babies and pregnancy and generally being all around obsessive. It doesn’t help that there are three (maybe four) pregnant women on the floor and they all walk past me to the bathroom, so it feels like a parade of bellies.
We were in LA and were talking about babies (again, I know) and I asked David why he was so calm about the whole concept and he told me that it was as simple as that he has more faith in my abilities than I do. That we’ll be just fine and we’ll figure it out as we go, just like everyone else. That whatever happens, we’ll be fine.
And so here we are. With a doctor’s appointment and a brain full of knowledge and no idea what I should be talking about. In ‘real life’, I mean. I’ve been pretty open with girlfriends about the plans, and the fact that the pulling of the goalie will be soon. And everyone’s been really happy for us and I have two ‘aunties’ already ready to steal my baby so I can nap. But what to tell people, and when? I am in no rush to say anything to my mom (she who told me that if I had babies, it would heal all her emotional wounds from my father’s death, which made me laugh in her face). I like a good secret. When we got engaged in Ireland, two weeks in to a three week trip, we didn’t tell anyone. We just enjoyed our vacation and each other and our joy together, and started telling people when we got back. (I didn’t think much of this until a coworker was telling me about proposing to his now wife in Machu Picchu and the struggle to find a long distance phone hours later. I could think of so many more fun things to do on a vacation than phone home. A couple of blackberry photos to the parents seems more than enough for me.) I like holding delicious secrets to my chest for a while, savouring. And I don’t really want to be that girl sharing the details of sexcapades and periods and waiting. But on the other hand, I’m prone to being a neurotic mess and talking helps that. A lot. I want advice and stories and more stories and sympathy and not have to make up excuses about why I’m not drinking (because lord knows, that will be obvious). So. I know I’m pre-worrying, but that’s what I do, and I don’t know what the too much/not enough information line looks like yet…