Happy 2019! I hope this year is filled with many blessings for you!
I’m not bothering with resolutions this year because nothing I would normally do applies. I can’t say I want to save a certain amount or write a certain amount or lose weight or gain weight or volunteer a certain number of hours. Hell, I can’t even resolve to wake up at a certain time and go to bed at a certain time.
Actually, I guess I could resolve to do all those things (or some of them), but by February, all those hopeful resolutions will be broken.
Now that I’m almost 38 weeks pregnant, people keep coming up to me and asking if I’m excited. The answer, honestly, is no. I’m scared.
Scared because I won’t get to have my “old life,” however comfortable that was. And when I look back at it, it was really nice while it lasted. Selfish? Probably so.
Babies are supposed to bring joy. I keep thinking that I’ll believe it when I see it (when I feel it?). Every now and then, I do have a moment when I’m excited about the baby, but the fear comes back moments later.
What is work-life balance going to look like? What is marriage going to look like? Will I ever write or do anything I want to again? What if the baby doesn’t bond with me or I don’t bond with him? What if I am The Worst Parent Ever?
From listening to parents who’ve been there and done that, all of these fears and what-ifs and worries will be rendered invalid. You just do what you can. You sacrifice. You make ends meet. You give up the futile hope of perfection and resolutions and keep on keeping on.
So I guess that’s my resolution. To keep on. To do what I can. To try.