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So the pregnancy and preparations and life in general meandar on. Pregnancy is such a bizarre thing. You're a human egg, carrying around another person, a person who is in the process of becoming – well, becoming. The pain has continued, although in general I feel much better. I struggle a little, but it's now in the realm of normal.
What has really fascinated me is the improvement of my outlook. You hear people say about how having a baby reorganized their worldview, but so many people say it in a negative way, that they no longer have time for things that they used to love or somehow act less a person and more this alien mother creature. Instead, C and I find ourselves working to meet a higher standard. We are keeping the house even cleaner. We are more forgiving with one another. We are working harder and better together.
And it is the little things, too; like realizing the yard isn't a burden, but a blessing. Which is obvious, but a great comfort and strangely relaxing to realize when I look out over this utter disaster of a yard that is about to get the city called on us, that I don't want to fix it just because it's embarrassing, but because I want to have back my beautiful yard and my little garden. Because it makes me happy. It's remembering that I have to take care of myself so I make time to read, and cook well, and to work on editing and writing and doing things that make me happy.
It is ridiculous, that it would take 32 years to learn to put myself reasonably first. I think what shocks me most is how most people don't care. On occasion, someone will be surprised, usually at work, that I'm not willing to put in the extraordinary superhuman effort, but not often. I can't decide if it's encouraging or depressing to realize that I've been killing myself for decades years for absolutely no reason. But there it is.
What has really fascinated me is the improvement of my outlook. You hear people say about how having a baby reorganized their worldview, but so many people say it in a negative way, that they no longer have time for things that they used to love or somehow act less a person and more this alien mother creature. Instead, C and I find ourselves working to meet a higher standard. We are keeping the house even cleaner. We are more forgiving with one another. We are working harder and better together.
And it is the little things, too; like realizing the yard isn't a burden, but a blessing. Which is obvious, but a great comfort and strangely relaxing to realize when I look out over this utter disaster of a yard that is about to get the city called on us, that I don't want to fix it just because it's embarrassing, but because I want to have back my beautiful yard and my little garden. Because it makes me happy. It's remembering that I have to take care of myself so I make time to read, and cook well, and to work on editing and writing and doing things that make me happy.
It is ridiculous, that it would take 32 years to learn to put myself reasonably first. I think what shocks me most is how most people don't care. On occasion, someone will be surprised, usually at work, that I'm not willing to put in the extraordinary superhuman effort, but not often. I can't decide if it's encouraging or depressing to realize that I've been killing myself for decades years for absolutely no reason. But there it is.