We have six-and-a-half weeks left until the due date. The DDH has made impressive progress on the nursery. Almost the only thing left to do now is paint, and we even bought paint.
I wish I were being as productive and making as much progress on my own projects. Mostly I'm just tired, and anxious, and freaking out about everything. And we end up eating fast food every night because I spend the afternoons curled up in bed instead of cooking, and I can barely drag myself out of bed early enough to make coffee for the DDH, much less get a chicken into the crockpot.
I'm worried because T-Rex measured a week small on Monday. The doctor isn't worried; he said there can be a lot of variation in the measurements based on how the baby is lying in the womb and the measurement is not that far off anyway. But it could be there's not enough amniotic fluid and he'll be brain-damaged. So I worry.
I worry whenever I don't feel him kick for awhile. Most days he's active, but some days, like today and yesterday, he's quiet, and I just don't know enough to know what's normal. And sometimes I worry when he is moving around, in case he's having some sort of epic death throes or something. So no matter what I worry.
I worry about what people think about the baby things we registered for.
I worry about sundry things at work.
I worry that I'm going to be a terrible mother, that I'll snap and yell and be tired because I will be and do all those things, and I guess in the end it won't matter, but I still worry.
I worry about balancing schedules and sending him to daycare and never being able to get anything done because if I can't keep up with it now, how will I do it with T-Rex around?
I worry that I complain too much. Because I do.
I don't really worry about traffic accidents or natural disasters or germs (though I do worry about the house burning down. I never got over the burning-lava-coming-down-the-chimney nightmares I had when I was little).
I used to get exasperated with my mother for worrying so much. She is a champion worrier, the kind who can't sleep if she knows we're traveling (and told me, when I was away at college, not to tell her if I were going anywhere until after I got back, because there was nothing she could do from two states away but she'd worry anyway, if she knew).
Now I'm exasperated at myself for worrying so much. But knowing everything will be okay and feeling it are two different things, and so I worry still.
Maybe that's just what parents do.