At some point during my first trimester my mom said to me, casually, you probably won’t be able to work full time for the next five years or so. I was still reeling from being pregnant with twins, I hadn’t really considered what would happen after the girls were born. I was just content in knowing that I wouldn’t be working while I was pregnant. My OB had already told me the latest he wanted me to work was 20-22 weeks. I didn’t see any point in continuing a job hunt.
Coming to understand that I likely would not working for an extended period of time wasn’t a negative or positive realization for me. It just was. It was different. Not what I had planned. I had all this education and now I was.. a baby cooker. And on the road to being a full time mother, at least for the foreseeable future. So. That’s weird.
Or is it?
I don’t know. Honestly. And that is where this is going to end. Because I don’t have it all figured out yet and I am sort of.. fine with that. Which is about as un-me as it gets. I am not fine with anything. Ever. I am constantly working and planning and doing and looking towards the horizon. And here I am, on the brink of this huge precipice of the unknown and I am thinking, well, I will find out what it’s like when I get there. And this isn’t because I have found zen, or grown as a person, or suddenly stopped needing to plan my life. It is because this is so unknown and so surreal that I don’t even know where to begin so…?
If I took how I feel down to a very small scale, it would be my response to breastfeeding. It is a huge deal for many expectant mothers. Doctors and hospitals put an enormous amount of pressure on it. And I get it, it is good for baby, good for mom, everyone wins. I’d like to do it. But I just don’t know if it is going to work. Maybe my boobs will just say, nope. And then that’s it. Game over. I have fuzzy thoughts in my head about what I will do whether or not it works, but other than that, eh. I am not planning for something I have so little control over.
And that’s motherhood. I am making rough sketches and fuzzy plans but nothing in stone. Nothing permanent. What if I plan for the girls to go to private school and learn violin and become president and they pop out wanting to work with elephants and move to the jungle? Well then, the violin was probably a waste of time.
So I wait. I make to-do lists, and cross days off my calendar and wait. Wait to see what these girls have in store for me, in store for us. If E and O are anything like their mother, I may as well through my crude plans out the window. They will have plans of their own.