Anticipation

You wanna know something? A few weeks ago, when the anxiety attack was looming, I had several thoughts on my mind.

One of the many being "Ansley will be 2 in September. People are already starting to ask. When do we add another?"

I'm not saying that that one thought brought on the issue, but I am saying that one thought has plagued me. For some time.

I LOVE being a mom. More than I thought I would. I love laughing with (and, honestly, at) Ansley. I love listening in on her conversations with her lovie and toy kitchen. And I know that I have enough love to add another arrow to the quiver.  That honestly used to be a fear of mine. I was concerned that I wouldn't love a second kid as much as the first. Crazy, no?

Anywho, I think I've got this parenting thing figured out, and I would go through labor and delivery again in a heartbeat. But it's getting to that point that makes me feel like I'm gonna pee my pants.

I didn't have a rough pregnancy, per se. But I did deliver 5 weeks early. And why? My doc was concerned that I was developing preeclampsia. Are you starting to see where this is headed?

Overall, I enjoyed being pregnant. I loved the baby kicks, and when I remember what that was like, I feel almost ready to throw caution to the wind. When I hold a little baby that snuggles into my neck, and offers one of those early smiles in my direction, I melt.

But, when I remember the fear of that morning when I saw the blood, and the following panic that ensued when my water broke, it's enough to make me want to stop right here, and practice the only 100% effective prevention of pregnancy (hello? I'm an abstinence educator. Remember?) When I remember having to scrub my arms and hands before going to sit by my baby's bedside, and the time that I couldn't hold her, and the first glimpse I had of her all covered in sensors and tubes and tape and an IV in her head, I'm ready to throw in the towel.

Because that was too much for me. And, maybe that's part of why I'm experiencing all this right now. Because I don't know that I really experienced it then. I had to be strong. It was expected. I was too tired to know what the correct emotions were. But now, now I'm experiencing all of them.

And I'm not sure I can go through that again. And I know I shouldn't feel like I have to. And, I don't. Not really. But there's still part of me that knows that people are anticipating the facebook post. Or the announcement at work, or the slight little bulge around my belt line (which, honestly, right now peeps its because I recently had a date with two very old and dear friends I hadn't seen in a very long while. Remember Ben and Jerry? Yeah, we hung out a few nights ago.).

And so, I wait. With the same anticipation. I wait, hoping that eventually, I'll know the right answer. And whatever that answer is, I'll trust that others will know that it is what is right. Even if they think I should have 10 kids.

At least, my primary care doc thinks I should have 10. My OB disagreed. He thought I should probably limit it to 6.

But right now, we're good. With one.

One down, a few to go

So, we went to look at that house a few days ago. That one that seemed WAY to good to be true.



You know, 30K cheaper and 800 more square feet. Newer construction. More land. Wrap-around porch AND dormer windows!! All that comes to mind when I think "dream house." With a few exceptions.



I don't know you, mister listing agent, but "3 bedrooms" means three rooms with closets! Not two rooms downstairs, plus a HUGE bonus room upstairs. Bonus room=awesome. Having to divide the room to make more bedrooms=stab me with a dull spoon.



Wood paneled toilet lids, not cool. Textured wallpaper in the ENTIRE house, tacky. Particle board cabinets, cheap.

You know, sometimes, old light fixtures look pretty cool. In this case, they just looked like a flashback from the 80s. And it wasn't even a good flashback.



Plus, when you mention to someone who built the house and they say "Are you sure you even want to look at it?" Pretty good hint that the builder isn't known in a positive light.

So, I guess that means one decision has been made. We're going to stay put. Which, ultimately, I think I wanted anyway. We may not have the largest of closets, and our doors may creak a little, but it's character. And you always seem to cheer for the character that's been around the longest.

Welcome home, Soyster family. Welcome home.

Creature of Habit

I cannot make decisions. Period.

When I'm getting ready for work in the mornings, rarely do I wear the first thing I put on. Unfortunately, I've found myself doing this with my child as well. However, I've learned that Ansley doesn't care if the skirt makes her thighs look fat, and, sometimes, it's better to let her go unmatching than hog tying her to change her clothes.

Probably the biggest decision I have is knowing what I want to eat. This is how a typical conversation between me and the hubs goes:

Me: "Hey, let's go out to dinner." Him: "Ok, what do you want?" Me: "Hmm. I don't know. What do you want?" Him: "You made the suggestion, so you obviously had something in mind." Me: "How about Moe's?" Him: "That sounds good." Me: "We don't have to go there. We can go somewhere different." Him: "Moe's is fine. Do you really want Moe's?" Me: "I don't know. I was kinda thinking I was in the mood for some chicken. How about Chick-Fil-A?" Him: "Ok, that's fine." Me: "No, let's just go to Moe's" Him: "Are you sure?" Me: "Yeah. Just go to O'Charlies."

When we were picking baby names, I flip flopped about 17 times.

And picking a movie, forget it.

I cannot make decisions. It's almost impossible for me to do so. And many times, I end up avoiding whatever decision needs to be made (minus having to pick out an outfit. Avoiding that decision would mean running around naked, and even though I've cranked out a baby and have had people I've never met help me use the bathroom, naked is out.).

Which is why when I'm faced with big decisions, I tend to stick with what is known. What is comfortable. What isn't a stretch.

Ok, not even big decisions. Little ones too. Like I rarely order something new from a restaurant. Because I know I like it. And I'm too worried I'm not going to like something else.

And if I find a shirt I like, I tend to go back and buy it in every color. Because it isn't a stretch for me in the mornings to decide what to wear. When Old Navy had the super soft rouched V-neck shirts, I had like seven of them.

I always get the same haircut. I spent most of my time at Walmart in the shampoo section trying to decide what kind I want to use, only to ultimately buy what I always do.

But now, we've got to make some decisions. And I can't just avoid them.

I've got to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. I've got to decide if I want to try and sell our current house, and buy one that is cheaper, allowing us to save more money. And I can't decide.

And, I've got to decide what to do for Ansley's first birthday party. Zoo? Aquarium? Baseball game? Park? Nothing big because she won't remember it anyway?

And, I've got to decide when that first haircut should happen. Cause, that little side-sweep of her bangs is only going to work for so long.