It’s official, I’m a worry-wort
I know it’s normal to have some anxiety about becoming a mom, especially the first time. However, and I’m not sure about this, but it seems that my worrying is a bit extreme albeit comical at times.
For example, I woke up at 4am this morning panicking about the smell coming from the cat’s litter box. Let me clarify that while I couldn’t actually smell it, I was sure it was there lurking the corners of the house downstairs, waiting to strike when one least expects it. Pregnant women shouldn’t touch cat litter (toxoplasmosis) so I left C a note asking him to PLEASE clean the cat box. He was very understanding and left me a note saying he cleaned it before work. (Isn’t that sweet?!?)
I was also panicky about having the fish tank in the downstairs family room, where the baby’s playroom will be set up. So the first thing I did when I woke up is to post an add on craigslist to sell it. I felt much better about it after posting the add.
I’ve been worrying about the baby, of course. I found myself particularly concerned about the fact that the ultrasound tech said his eyes were opened at 22 weeks. The problem is that they are not supposed to open their eyes until around 26 weeks. It seems that the baby is a bit ahead of himself in his development. I felt the first movements around 14 weeks, most feel it for the first time around 18 weeks. He measures a few weeks larger than his age. Maybe he’s just precocious? Precociousness can be a good thing, but I don’t want precocious. It makes me nervous. I just want NORMAL. We could use some more of that around here.
With him doing all these things early, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that the baby will arrive early. Before-we’re-ready early. I’ve heard all sorts of things about a mother’s instincts, but I hope that I am wrong about this one. I want him to stay in there and grow big and strong and healthy.
Nevertheless, I’ve been experiencing some nesting urges. I’m really anxious to wipe down the walls and to scrub the nursery floor on my hands and knees so I don’t miss a SINGLE SPOT. I want those floors so shiny that I can count my eyelashes from my reflection. I’m anxious about clutter in the house. I’m trying hard not to give in and go through the house with a giant garbage bag and throw everything away that we don’t use. (As in- extra computer? In the trash we go!) I’ve got a hamper full of used baby clothes waiting to be washed and put away. I’m holding myself back from doing this as well so that I’ll have something to do besides twiddling my thumbs those last few weeks of pregnancy.
Baby socks. I’m obsessed about baby socks. My rational side knows that I’ve got plenty of time to buy all the baby socks in the world for our little one. The pregnant side can’t help but to imagine his cute little toes being cold without little socks to cover them. Every time we pass by the baby isle in the stores I actually have to ask C to guide me away from the socks and remind me that I have plenty of time to get those if we don’t get any as gifts. But STILL- those poor little toesies…
Maybe I’m just nesting early? I just want everything to be perfect when my baby finally does arrive. Maybe I’m just worried about the c-section birth and my recovery. I mean, if he does come early and I have the surgery, there’s not a whole lot I’ll be able to do afterward to finish preparations for baby.
I guess I just need to remind myself that everything will be just fine and that what I am feeling is perfectly normal (minus the sock obsession). In the rational words of C, “As long as the baby has boobies available, a clean diaper, and love- he’ll be just fine. Everything else can wait.”
Except for baby socks, of course.