Little Meeces?

It didn’t mean as much to me when my boss had her baby last week as when my girlfriends had theirs (so jealous!) but then I had to put up with her craziness & repeat over and over to myself every day “she’s pregnant, it’s the hormones” and ignore a lot of idiosyncrasies that would have probably caused me to look for another job. Do I want to be that crazy? Maybe, maybe not. But my friends (and boss, I guess) having babies reminded me: I’m a heck of a lot tougher than most people give me credit for. Also all the horrible things that they do it you at the hospital I had to deal with when my appendix was going bad in my gut, so that only leaves labor and delivery, and while I don’t think it will be a piece of cake, I know if my friends could handle it, I could too, and let’s face it, umm… once you’re into it, you don’t really have much choice. And I have always pictured myself with kids (someday) especially since Matthew and I met. He’s so great with kids and I know he’ll be a great dad, and he wants to be a daddy mouse awful bad. I don’t know if he gets it like I do though. Connecting with my readers and the other blogs I read and hearing what they go through every day. The good and bad, the changes to your body. The changes to your overall life… After all, what happens to him? Umm. Yeah. Nothing.

I must say, he has gotten a lot better about helping me out, and that bodes well for him. He knows he would be lost without me, and that’s a good feeling, to be needed and wanted, but I also want him to JUST DO IT. Take care of things without having to be reminded. Do it often, every day, several times a day. Granted, we’re stuck in a tiny apartment with 2 windows and one door. Our kitchen is a hallway and our bathroom is barely big enough to turn around in. So that makes it like a triathlon to get the vacuum out and use it. What’s the point? And no dishwasher and laundry down the outside balcony and down the stairs, juggling the heavy basket while you try to key the door open.. good grief! As for Mr. Mouse, he’s been going to school and working, and since he graduated, his helpfulness went through the roof. When he sees me get frustrated, he says what can I do, or just does something that needs done. Sometimes he just gets out my hair, and that helps too.

I just can remember my mom gardening and cleaning the house all the time and laundry and so much without any help, and it drives me crazy. She was always so tired and that wasn’t fair. And even when she complained she didnt get help from anyone but me. Why should I put myself through that? How can I prevent it? I know Mr. Mouse is not like my dad, but how can I be sure he’ll help? Do I say let’s have one and if you’re good we’ll try again? Do I make him split chores with me ahead of time and then give him more once I can’t see my shoes anymore? Do I just trust he’ll see that I can’t carry heavy stuff anymore or that I’m falling asleep at 8 pm and the dinner dishes are still out, no one has clean underwear for the next day, etc? I know that together we make a great team, but I’m worried that work will come first like school had to come first, and that deadlines will mean I’m home alone taking care of the little meece day and night, no day care, no family around to give you a break, etc. I know I’m tough enough for all the labor and delivery, all that. But since the stone age women have had family around, people to help, and for all intents and purposes, I would be alone. Recognizing my history for depression on occassion, would I fall into PPD and not be able to get help? Would Matt “get it” or would he just be upset if I sat and cried with the baby? I know other people have gone through it and come out the other side, but it worries me. I know he reads this, but do we talk about that beforehand? Do I mention my worries specifically, or do I trust he’ll know I need a break if I haven’t moved all day? I’d be interested to hear what my readers think. Especially those with children already. I know there is a balance between insanity and joy in having kids. Which wins?

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