Although I am unbelievably type-A and have every other aspect of my life organized, I am a messy-house person. I clean for guests, exclusively. I used to crack jokes about being messy. I won over roommates by being a good cook – friends were happy to pick up when I made chicken-and-dumplings and homemade salad dressing. My husband, he’s messy too. So we charmingly declared ourselves “two peas in a pod” and scraped together what we could for the occasional maid service (whom we could have kissed at the culmination of each visit.) Nowadays, the hubby and I work crazy hours. We have one car and I pick him up from public transportation that he rides from the hospital each night around 9:30pm. I then scramble to throw dinner together because I can’t stand the idea of something frozen or served through a drive-through window. Then we eat with our computers on our laps, sleep, and do it all over again the next day. I’m not complaining. I couldn’t be happier. We all have our own stress and our own hectic schedule to juggle – I don’t ever judge whether someone is justifiably “busy” – that’s just crazy.
But here’s the thing … how do we throw a baby into the mix? I just can’t imagine.
The fact that I’m even writing “baby” on this blog scares the pants off of me. (Actually, I think I’ll keep my pants on, I wouldn’t want to add to the ever-growing laundry pile.) It’s about to get personal here, people …
We’re at “the age”, whatever that means. Friends and family stare at my womb like an oven-timer will go off, a door will swing open, and there will be baby. We’ve been married a few years, together so much longer than that (oh yes, we met and started dating when I was sixteen), and I suppose it’s expected. And some days I want a baby, and some days, I don’t. But our messy house, it makes me think we’re wholly unprepared, that we can barely take care of ourselves, that we make a pittance of salaries and like travel, wine, and more travel; plus I’ve been unwell (I hate the word “sick” – so “unwell” it is!), which is incredibly time-consuming and stressful … more on that some day. And our house is so darn messy. When it’s just the two of us, and I’m one-foot-in a creative job (blogging, writing, etc.), we paint a picture of our zany creative world (where it’s okay that the piles are higher than the fruit basket on the kitchen counter. But with a baby, how do I justify losing a pacifier amidst my seven craft projects – all only half-started (and for some, the start being simply buying the materials), stacks of books and magazines that I swear I’m getting to, and my camera equipment?
I envy those of you with clean shelves, fresh laundry, and a plan. I have a plan, but it’s one of ten carefully transcribed on color-coded lists – because I’m always planning and scheming and creating – and without a clean tabletop. I just hope that works for our someday-baby.