This is a journal entry from the darkness of night, 3/16. Not watching any TV means I am writing more. And doing so very honestly.
“I told myself I was much less anxious than before. But I had to admit today, I am still a little more than a little anxious. Chewing my lip until it’s raw. My nervous tell. The pediatrician reassuring me even though I didn’t ask her to. Irksome. No schedule so no expectations allowed. Except expectations want to sneak in and crash the party. Revelations try to overcome the sneak attacks. Rolling around in my head. Trying to do it right. Fearful that the next thing I eat or do or don’t do will cause me to get less sleep.
And then worrying about what to write. Don’t want to go on and on about baby stuff. More pictures and decorating and random thoughts and recipes. Something other. Not wanting the baby to take over when she already has.”
The next week, I pondered this anxiety and decided, all there was left to do is admit that I’m not in control. At all. And try to do my best and let go of the rest is the only plan that works. And to remember that this is a wonderful life I’m living and this sleep deprivation will pass. Fill that in with whatever misery is currently befalling you. And there will be a next. Day, month year, and this will all be a distant memory you will wish you were still living.