Calm the Heck Down!

I have always been an anxious person. It is in my Type A/OCD nature. I’m a planner. I make lists, map out the best routes for vacations, and research restaurants. Sure, I like my dose of spontaneity once in a while, but I thrive with order. Chaos makes me lose my mind. I am also not normally an emotional person. I rarely cry watching TV shows, reading books, etc. Unless there’s a dog involved, I can usually keep it together.

Fast forward to pregnant me: I can’t remember ANYTHING, I forget what I’m doing, where I’m going, how to get there, where I put things, and every stinking commercial makes me teary-eyed. Things that would be minor annoyances drive me to my wit’s end. I am in a constant state of “oh, that’s today?!” and “wait, that was yesterday?”

For instance, just the other day, I decided it was time to sort through my daughter’s baby clothes to determine what we can and can’t reuse for her little sister, who is arriving this summer. I had sent all of her clothes, blankets, bottles, and other outgrown items to my parents’ house, because they have a full basement and plenty of room to hold on to the stuff – bless them! So we made a trip home so I could sort and organize, only to discover the Newborn and 0-3 months boxes of clothes, socks, and shoes were Missing In Action. Cue panic mode. Full on, ready to drive 80 miles at 9 pm (I usually fall asleep by 9:30) to check our house and attic for these boxes of clothes. I was convinced we had accidentally donated them, and I couldn’t handle it. I somehow didn’t cry, but was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted and on edge.

 

The calm, normal side of me was begging my hormonal self to calm the heck down. We would be home again in 2 days, and my husband could get up in the attic and bring down those boxes of clothes. NO BIG DEAL. Except anxiety kicked in and all I could think about was how baby sister wouldn’t get to wear the sweet coming home outfit big sister did. Wouldn’t get her pictures taken in the same clothes. You get the idea – total emotional suicide.

Sure enough, on Sunday afternoon, my husband climbed up in the attic and came back in the house 2 minutes later with the 2 missing boxes of baby clothes. Crisis averted. (PHEW!). Happiness sprouted and I couldn’t stop smiling. After telling him he was my hero and apologizing for being unable to control my worry, I sat down and went through the big boxes of sweet, tiny clothes.

 

Dear pregnancy: I love you and the blessings you bring to my family, but if you could calm the heck down a bit on the mental/emotional side, that would be great. Sincerely, an exhausted Type A wife and mommy, her husband, and her closest friends and family.

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