30w1d - Did we ever babymoon. Sedona was all crimson sand and (slow) desert hikes and many, many naps. It was deep massages à deux and hand-holding while trolling health food stores for snacks.
Still, if I am anything at all, I am a worrier, and this trip didn't switch that trait off. On the peaceful but craggy drive from Scottsdale north to Red Rock Country, I could feel my resolve for this mini-vaca begin to falter. Exactly why were we spending money before the baby arrived on such selfish endeavors? Didn't The Mister and I have plenty of freelance work we could've spent three days completing instead, maybe even side-by-side at some chichi latte place near my parents' house? Shouldn't we be, you know, researching labor classes or listening to my hypnobirthing CD instead of attempting to watch pay-per-view comedies but falling asleep sloppily, exhausted and stinking of onions from inhaling expensive Tex-Mex?
No doubt, I wholeheartedly enjoyed and appreciate our time away: Likely, that will have been the last time The Mister and I focused on each other and our relationship for way more than the next 10 weeks. But the babymoon did somehow set blowing a tumbleweed of guilt and worry that I've had trouble sweeping away since.
Saving for diapers, saving for health insurance, saving for life insurance, saving for college. Paying for a doula, or not paying for a doula. Budgeting in trips to our family, spread across the country, so they can meet this babe—live! In person!!—this summer. Buying bras that actually fit, and knowing full well I'll need new ones mere weeks from now.
Pining for friends who I've been terrible about seeing during this pregnancy, who are clear across the country. Worrying I've missed out on important events in their lives, or even mundane details that I crave because I love them so. Wishing I could hand out Sorry no hangouts lately, I'm still pregnant and crazy cards, and knowing how lame that sounds in light of what selfless gems my friends have always been. Remembering milestones of theirs I'd forgotten to acknowledge, then forgetting to act on them once again.
Turning in school assignments late because of work. Handing in writing assignments late because of class. Not knowing when I became a time management failure.
Disappointing my dog for abandoning him in the snow back East while I warm my bones and my baby here. Knowing he's walked and fed and loved by treasured neighbor-buddies, but imagining icy nights in which he only restlessly naps, waiting for The Mister and I to return.
Worrying I'm not eating enough protein. Wishing Samoas contained fruit or calcium or something redeeming, or at least tasted worse.
Spending less time out here just soaking in my family and more time frantically tapping around online, not actually keeping up with anything or anyone as I should be.
(Recalling my acupuncturist once chiding me, "I won't 'should' on you if you don't 'should' on me." Remembering I may have forgotten to cancel an appointment with her last week.)
Consciously shoving away regular thoughts of our two lost babies, as reflecting on them feels wholly unnerving as this baby climbs my ribs and tugs on my kidneys. Then, mentally flogging myself for being so insensitive.
Failing to write thank-yous. Leaving texts unanswered. Knowing I know better.
Forgetting to bring all those things I said I would/ do that stuff I said I'd do/ be that person I always said I wanted to be. Realizing that this barrage of self-doubt has no natural end in sight.
Moms, this guilt thing: It's just beginning, isn't it? Because I haven't allowed myself near the once-the-baby-comes worries—yet.