Wah-wah

Tonight, I replaced our Brita filter.
Our Brita pitcher has a dial feature on the lid for you to remind yourself to replace the filter again. The directions suggest doing that every two months. So after placing the new filter in the pitcher, I dialed the numbers around until they read 06-04 (for June 4th).

That's when it hit me.

The next time I replace that filter, I'll be a mom.

An ambivalent flood of anxiety and hope washed over me. I looked at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the disorganized mess of groceries I'd half unpacked from yesterday's Trader Joe's trip still sitting on the dining table, and the huge cardboard boxes from Amazon that had arrived today strewn across our living room floor. I also remembered the ENORMOUS pile of gifts, clothing, and baby gear we had just received at my baby shower on Saturday - still sitting untouched in the baby's crib in the nursery.

Simultaneously, I wondered what our baby would look like. Would he fit his 99% designated name of "Henry"? Would he be healthy? Chubby? With lots of hair or bald? Would anything be wrong with him? Would he have all his fingers and toes? What if he's disfigured in some way? What if he can't see or talk? What will he look like? Who will he resemble?

Then I sighed, and thought to myself: Silly Brita, getting me all worked up!

I did as many dishes as I could before my back started hurting (for some reason the kitchen sink is kind of deep set into the counter, plus my belly prevents me from "bellying up" right to the edge of the counter... So I basically have to lean forward in this awkward way whenever I do the dishes - which leads to excruciating lower back pain after about 15 minutes). I asked my kind husband to break down the cardboard boxes in the living room, as I put away the rest of the groceries in the pantry.

As I walked to our bedroom, I shut the door to the nursery so I couldn't see the mountain of stuff that still needed my attention (hey, a girl can only do so much in one day).

And as I settled into bed, I realized it had been an egregiously long time since I'd posted anything on my blog. Sorry there's no formatting or pictures... Why, yes, this post was created on my iPad.

Anticipation

My EDD (Estimated Date of Delivery, a.k.a. "Baby's Due Date") - May 21st - coincides with what many believe will be the second coming of Jesus Christ.  Apparently, it's all in the Bible... if you do some reading between the lines and a little number-crunching:

May 21, 2011 = Judgement Day. 

I find it exceptionally intriguing that a whole group of people are looking forward to May 21st, like my husband and me, but for a very different reason.  The symptoms are probably the same though - an increasing sense of excitement and nervousness as the day approaches... We're probably asking ourselves very similar questions: "Did I do enough to prepare?" "What have I gotten myself into?" "What if everything (everyone) goes to all hell?"

We're looking forward to this day, but we have no idea what to expect.  Will it be the end of something? The beginning? Both?  Will my life become filled with a joy I've never even conceived of before? Will it bring disappointment?  Will I just discover that I'm a big fat failure?

So much pressure.  So much anticipation.  So much hope and fear and curiosity...

And, in the end (no pun intended), none of us will even have the wherewithal to realize the result.  We'll probably all just be in the mix, enjoying the ride, not able to think objectively and judge whether it was a success or a failure. 

That is, until it's too late.

Appreciation

 

Why is it we only appreciate things when they're about to be ripped away from us or - worse - after we've already lost them?  Is it immaturity? The value of something increases only because we can't have it anymore? Or a minor form of hubris?  We get too set in our ways and take for granted that it may not last forever?

The other day I was griping to my husband about how being unemployed and having nothing to do all day isn't what it's cracked up to be.  After a while, it is possible (although it took a REALLY long time with me) to get tired of doing nothing.  What do they say? "Be careful what you wish for"?  Or to turn it around -  

"Be careful what you complain about."

Tomorrow I start a new job.  Back to the ol' 9 to 5 (actually, 9 to 6).  

Sigh.

This is good news. 

I know deep down it is.  I like spending money - and in order to spend, (ideally) you have to make money. In order to make money, you have to have a job.  And hopefully that job is something you don't suck at, hate, or causes bodily/psychological harm.  And that's what I've been handed. On a silver platter, in fact.  A contract position (so I don't feel THAT guilty about hiding the fact that I was 5 months pregnant at the interview), paying exactly what I was making at my last "good" job, working at a small ARCHITECTURAL firm (I put that in all caps b/c my last job was NOT at an architectural firm, and - frankly - it sucked), doing residential and commercial work.  It's pretty much exactly what I was looking for in a job.  And since it's contract, I won't have pesky deductions for 401k's or medical insurance - so in fact, I'll be bringing home MORE than I was a year ago.  Pretty darn awesome.  

I am grateful, don't get me wrong.

So... why do I feel like someone's told me I have to lose my left arm?  OK, maybe that's a little melodramatic.  But it definitely feels like an END.  My Life of Leisure is coming to a close, and although the benefits (I know, I know) outweigh the negatives, I don't think shedding an imaginary tear is overreacting. 

So long, sleeping in.  Bye bye, vegging out.  Adieu, punching at the iPad for hours surfing the net, playing Solitaire and Scrabble, and checking my personal email every 3 minutes.

Hello, again, Career.  

Did you miss me, Commute? (OK, it's only 15 minutes away)

Alas, Appreciation. Why is it you're always the last guest to arrive at the party... just before the cops break it up?