God, it's so bizarre to be with child. I mean, I always thought I'd like it. It was a life experience I looked forward to. But I think I had rose-coloured glasses on. I'm excited at the thought of my own child, but I don't love being pregnant. Mostly, I don't relish the constant fatigue I'm experiencing. In six months I'll be busy and encumbered by responsibility and now is the time to get out and enjoy my freedom. But I'm too dang sleepy.
The Dude has started clearing out his unnecessary junk and has begun selling off things we don't need, all to make room. It's step one to baby prep. I enjoy the growing sparseness. I know we'll be bringing things back into the house (crib, stroller, high chair, etc.) but I really want to keep things simple. I don't want to over-do it. Any time I've walked into someone's house and it's been taken over by children's things, I shudder. Not in my house.
My mom had all our toys out of the living room. Most of my stuff was in my bedroom, and a couple things in the rec room. There was sanctioned adult space and that's what I hope to create in my own home. Obviously with a baby, you have to be relaxed about things, but I can ban battery-operated noise-and-lights toys from my house, at least. Actually, that reminds me of another rule my mom had: no toys that require batteries.
(Actually, there was one exception: my Gameboy. Mom got super good at Dr. Mario. God, I miss her.)
I keep thinking ahead to the first few months of breastfeeding, waking up at night, changing diapers and doing lots of laundry and developing a routine and trying to get some sleep. It's going to be a wild ride. I really hope I won't have to do it alone. This is where I try not to think about my mom too much, because I know she'd come down for two weeks and stay with me. It's better not to focus too much on what you've lost. You can drive yourself crazy that way.