Ornithology of the id.
Something in my house has been smelling intermittently of sour milk. I smelled it by the couch three days ago and moved all the furniture trying to find the source. And again this morning, by the couch, and again in the bedroom. I have just realized it is the dog. Ewwww. To the groomer's with the spaniel!
Continuing the theme of sudden revelations about ongoing issues, I've realized two things about why I'm having so much angst over the bedrest. First, I'm nesting. I had heard about pregnant women doing this, but never thought it would happen to me - I'm not exactly the Mama Bird type. I joked to people who mentioned it, "Yeah, if you see me cleaning, you'll know something out of the ordinary is going on!"
But it's happening, as evidenced by the fact that the things that are bothering me the most are not the loose work ends and the unfinished taxes, the untallied surveys and the unrevised timeline, the lack of child care arrangments or carseat - by rights, the important stuff. No, instead what has me fretting is that I haven't finished framing all the pictures and posters I had planned to hang, that the zipper on my purse has not been fixed, that I don't have enough meals frozen for after the birth, or that all the Christmas ornaments and lights have not been neatly stowed in the garage. This is the kind of stuff I can let go for months, usually, but suddenly it has achieved now now now importance. I'd roll my eyes, but it's biological and therefore hard to let go of, even if I can consciously identify the cause.
The other factor, methinks, is that I've fallen prey to my own pet sucker myth of personal change again. I think I conjured up this idea for myself that I could and would finish every undone thing in my life before giving birth - that parenthood would find me with a clean slate and a fresh start. I know better than this - I've proved the lie of this myth through career changes, grad school, geographic relocation, new year's resolutions, and a multitude of other things - but the lure of it is still one that I am prone to, it appears. This time it will be different, this time I will be different, this time it will all get done and stay done, etc. I had hoped, as I always do, that somehow change in my life would bring about change in my essential self - not that it won't, but I will not become a swan overnight, it appears. Damnit.
Not that any of these realizations make it any easier to stay in bed, but there's a comfort to me in unpeeling my anxieties, seeing what's behind them, dissecting. It makes it easier to let go, to say, "Oh, that's all? I don't need that." Not that i've managed that level of zen, yet, but I'm working on it. Slow and steady.
Continuing the theme of sudden revelations about ongoing issues, I've realized two things about why I'm having so much angst over the bedrest. First, I'm nesting. I had heard about pregnant women doing this, but never thought it would happen to me - I'm not exactly the Mama Bird type. I joked to people who mentioned it, "Yeah, if you see me cleaning, you'll know something out of the ordinary is going on!"
But it's happening, as evidenced by the fact that the things that are bothering me the most are not the loose work ends and the unfinished taxes, the untallied surveys and the unrevised timeline, the lack of child care arrangments or carseat - by rights, the important stuff. No, instead what has me fretting is that I haven't finished framing all the pictures and posters I had planned to hang, that the zipper on my purse has not been fixed, that I don't have enough meals frozen for after the birth, or that all the Christmas ornaments and lights have not been neatly stowed in the garage. This is the kind of stuff I can let go for months, usually, but suddenly it has achieved now now now importance. I'd roll my eyes, but it's biological and therefore hard to let go of, even if I can consciously identify the cause.
The other factor, methinks, is that I've fallen prey to my own pet sucker myth of personal change again. I think I conjured up this idea for myself that I could and would finish every undone thing in my life before giving birth - that parenthood would find me with a clean slate and a fresh start. I know better than this - I've proved the lie of this myth through career changes, grad school, geographic relocation, new year's resolutions, and a multitude of other things - but the lure of it is still one that I am prone to, it appears. This time it will be different, this time I will be different, this time it will all get done and stay done, etc. I had hoped, as I always do, that somehow change in my life would bring about change in my essential self - not that it won't, but I will not become a swan overnight, it appears. Damnit.
Not that any of these realizations make it any easier to stay in bed, but there's a comfort to me in unpeeling my anxieties, seeing what's behind them, dissecting. It makes it easier to let go, to say, "Oh, that's all? I don't need that." Not that i've managed that level of zen, yet, but I'm working on it. Slow and steady.
posted by The Stute Fish at 11:36
2 Comments:
(typing from the floor while Ada plays with a package of costco baby wipes - one of her favorite toys): I planned to work until 10 days before my due date, then to have two weeks to finish projects (I kind of counted on nesting) and to visit pediatricians, go to the dentist, etc. Ada showed up 2 weeks early. I should have known, I am always early for appointments. So much was left undone, and almost none of it mattered.
I figure this is just the first in a long series of lessons about having to let go of my personal ideas about timelines and the Way Things Should Be in the face of parenthood....
Post a Comment
<< Home