dear waterbear 12.9.21
Hey, waterbear. It's your mom.
So, something your dad and I are doing now (...and have been doing, but, like, we're going into Turbo Mode atm) is setting up systems that will allow us time to, you know, be your parents. Today, we spent a half hour ping-ponging name ideas for our shared biz off each other. Lots of weird faces were made. We laughed a lot, dramatically unfurling flashcards and racing to Google definitions and etymologies and mythologies and alt spellings. It was a fun time. Your dad's an incredible goofball dweeb, and I have no attention span, haha. (We'll have to do a 'how we named our business' post at some point, once we've moved a bit closer toward launching it, and talk about our outtakes....)
We've done similar things putting together your name. (Hope you like it?)
ANYWAY. As our to-do lists are fulllllll of *things to do* to get ready for YOU, it's occurring to me that one of the scariest and most important things we're doing is creating spaaaaaace. From the day we bring you home, you're gonna be our priority #1, obvs. Right now, I'm a workaholic, and every minute of my day is accounted for. So, you see, something's gotta change.
I'm figuring out how to redefine my concept of productivity. I'm having to do scary things like pare down my client list and say no to projects. And, as a self-employed paranoia maven, that's ... a lot.
I know it'll be worth it, duh. One of my biggest priorities as a mom is going to be to never ever ever ever make you feel like you're secondary to my typing addiction. Or, at least, to really try not to do that.
And I know how habit science works: I've got to start forming those decision-making muscles right now. But, you know. Right now, before you show up, before we really know anything about you, it feels weird. That's all.
Anyway. I just turned down a project, and that was intentional and good! But different, and now I have to go stare at a wall for forty-five years. Also, I dyed my hair again yesterday, and I left the henna in too long, so my hair's a radioactive shade of orange. Make that forty-seven years.
Man, my journaling skills are rusty! I have SCADS and mountains and forests of journals, thousands of words, all over the place, and now, once I've decided I'm gonna try and write you somewhat often, I can't think of anything at all. And my browser keeps crashing, which isn't really helping this process.
I have noticed something kinda cool recently: Having you around (or on your way) is making it CRAZY MUCH easier for me to triage my to-do list and put things in perspective. When something silly happens at work, I'm (a little) better at seeing it as silly? Instead of the absolute end of everything? If I think of you, anyway? Which is nice, because in the future, I plan to be way better at compartmentalizing than I am now. Baby steps.
Okay, it's been twenty minutes, time to hang up the phone. Gotta throw together a grocery list of mainly plants and cinnamon and then figure out what I'm wearing for a holiday party tomorrow. And get some tea going. I hope you like tea, once you're developmentally equipped to handle it. We drink ~oh so much~ tea in the winter, and I'm doing yet another food experiment atm to see if I can drown my PCOS in spearmint and turmeric. Sorry in advance for making you eat a lot of weird stuff, probably.
Talk soon.
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