Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The crazy is coming out

I have reached the last month of pregnancy, and I do believe I am officially going insane.

It's not about things I'd consider typical. I'm not nesting like crazy (yet) or freaking out about the birth (yet) or fretting too much about whether I'll be a good mother. No, no. My worries are of the much more-- how shall we say?-- trivial and perhaps even vain and a smidge materialistic variety. I guess what I'm saying is, sometimes I can surprise even myself with my shallowness.

Last night I had a dream about my hair. The last time I had my hair cut and colored was before my trip to Georgia in June. So, mid-June. Friends, it is not looking its best these days. My salon started this thing where you receive $5 of that day's service if you go ahead and book your next appointment on the spot. I guess they're trying to prevent people always needing last-minute appointments or whatever, but I was all $5 off! and promptly booked my next appointments for as close to my due date as I was willing to risk, i.e., 37 weeks.

It's been at least two weeks now in which I've been desperate to get my hair cut and colored, and normally this would have been the point where I just called the salon and asked for the next available appointment. My schedule is wide open! I can do that! But my September 2nd appointments have been booked for months, and it seemed downright silly to go scrambling to align appointments with my stylist and colorist when I have both scheduled together if I can just manage to be patient for a little while longer.

Last night, I dreamed that I got so desperate for hair attention that I ventured to another salon for my cut and color. And I'm sure you ladies all know what that means-- the entire dream was filled with THE GUILT I knew I would feel when my usual stylist and colorist discovered that I had cheated on them with the salon across town. So in my dream I'm getting all these foil highlights applied and just thinking over and over, "What is Connie going to say?"

(I am literally shaking my head at my shallowness as I write this. The shame, it burns.)

Crazy number two: At our next-to-last birthing class on Sunday afternoon, our first order of business was to undertake a "fear release" exercise. The instructor walked us through all of this detailed mental imagery that was supposed to help bring up our fears and insecurities about giving birth and parenting. We then released the fears in the visualization. I don't know what I expected from the exercise, but probably something along the lines of "I'm afraid of the pain of childbirth" or "I'm afraid of losing patience with a crying baby" or "I'm afraid of being stuck at home and lonely when the baby comes" or something similar. You know, normal new-mom fears.

I did not expect my very first fear to be, "OMG my house will be a mess." But there it was, staring me in the (shallow and totally vain) face.

Okay, I don't actually think it's completely shallow and vain to want to have a clean, orderly, and welcoming home. I actually think it's quite a good thing, which is why I have a bit of a hard time understanding why there are a certain couple of people in my universe of friends and relatives who seem to relish the thought that my house will be messy after the baby. What is that all about? (At the other end of the spectrum is the dear and lovely mother of our goddaughter, who offered to come and clean my house for me after the baby is born. She said her mom cleaned her house for her twice after her daughter arrived, and it just made her feel so much better to be with the new baby in a neat and clean home. God bless her for her kind offer!)

But regardless of the rightness or wrongness of wanting to maintain a high level of order in my home, I think we can all agree that this is not the first thing one would expect to arise as a parenting-related fear. So, um, yeah. I'll put it in the category of Crazy.

Thankfully, there are only a handful of weeks left in which to see what kinds of generally trivial things my brain can dredge up to worry about. And really, if these are the kinds of things I'm fretting over at 36 weeks pregnant, I think I am an extraordinarily lucky person.

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