I’m having a bit of trouble focusing, what with items from my giant, ever-expanding Wedding Planning to-do list hovering around my head like a tangle of gnats with some giant, buzzing Getting Ready for Baby to-do list flies mixing it up from time to time. Did I mention we’ve been remodeling our house for the past month and that I still have some work-work to take care of? Like writing a reflective essay on what the past year of teaching creative writing has meant to me… Five whole pages, which feels impossibly long right now. Five pages on planning a wedding? Easy. Five pages on my thoughts about getting pregnant before getting married? Cinchy. Five pages about the joys of spending one day a week trying to get 120 high school students to use a facial expression other than Disinterest? Impossible—especially with all those gnats and flies telling me I ought to be shopping for votive holders sewing table runners finding branches for a homemade chuppah finding non-cheesy secular readings painting the bathroom making wedding programs shopping on Craigslist for a crib looking for photos of wedding hairdos writing letters to my unborn child finding a comfy rocking chair that’s not too expensive and doesn’t smell like Febreze…
I went for a walk this morning to clear my head and ended up sitting on the curb in tears. There’s. Just. So. Fucking. Much. To. Do.
Two of my best mates who I’ve been friends with since high school wrote the other day to ask me what we’d like as a wedding present and all I could think was, “A breast pump would be useful.” And then I cried.
Dr. Fiancé, who is uncomfortable with the idea of people buying us wedding gifts, much less ones we’ve specifically requested on a capitalist greed list and is slightly less uncomfortable with the idea of people buying us baby gifts suggested that my friends could get us an infant car seat. I’m pretty sure the icy tone of my voice when I replied that I’d like it if the present from two of my oldest, best friends wasn’t something we’d only use for a year and then give to Goodwill guaranteed that Dr. Fiance won’t be giving me any foot rubs any time soon.
At my last doctor’s appointment when I asked my OB for therapist recommendations she asked if I’ve been feeling more depressed or more anxious. It’s just so hard to tell—am I spending every weekend crying in the bathroom because I’m anxious about my epic to-do list, or has my to-do list become epic because I’m spending every weekend crying in the bathroom? Either way, I’m getting headaches from all the crying, and I don’t know if you know this, but Tylenol is just sugar compressed into a capsule. So until I can take Excedrin again, no more crying!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to duck into the bathroom, turn on the ceiling fan and some running water, burrow my face into a hand towel and…not cry.