What's more, when I'm home, I have a mental list of all the things I need to do and these items weren't as pressing to me when I was a working gal, but for some odd reason, chopping up my two cantaloupes and storing them in Tupperware had to be TODAY. When the house isn't spic and span, I begin to think that I'm failing at this mothering thing already, even when doing the dishes from the breakfast I made myself doesn't and can't affect my Jude in any way, shape or form...or can it? I can't be bothered to check email or respond to them at that, I'm constantly glancing at my Blackberry email inbox and clearing the queue to cleanser my mental capacity for the days dusting and straightening of my old magazines.
I thought quitting my job would afford me leisurely months of preparing for his coming, but it sounds and feels more like the apocalyptic second coming of Christ, where everyone is cramming in their confessions and cleansing their souls. Maybe for some mom-to-bes, it is leisurely and they have restful sleep and deep journaling sessions about how they would "shower love on to thee, who is growing every day in me..." and reading all the books they hadn't had time to. Maybe for some, they are dressed in lovely floral dresses and strolling down their neighborhood streets and testing healthy recipes for when the baby is ready to solids. I suppose I'm doing something of these things, but I have to force myself to stop dusting, scrubbing, arranging and chopping. I have to pull myself out of the mental panic that's swirling in my head every day. I wish I was more like the calm human mother who is reflective and prayerful about her child, but much to my chagrin, I feel more like that frantic beaver mom digging her dam.