I Will Not Freak Out

I think this will bear repeating several times throughout my Momifesta, but I had my first moment of freak out today when I read this article about how to potty train in a week.

It wasn’t a terrifying post about how difficult it is, but I read between the lines… and beyond. I am going to have to teach my kid to do everything. Well, me and the hubs, of course. We’ve only been paying our bills on time for the last few years, how are we going to raise a human?

We’ll do it, like everyone in the world has done before us. So many have done it, there have to be people out there who are less responsible than we are, right? I’ve seen Teen Moms.

Teen Moms

My husband frequently uses the majority in arguments, citing a random guess that the world agrees with something as a reason that I should agree with it, too. Now, I see the merit of that kind of thinking. The whole world can raise kids? I can do it, too. (He’s still not winning the argument.)

I think I’ll wait at least until the second trimester to start reading the books – the dos/donts, what to expect, you’re going to be a horrible mother how-tos. I’m a planner, a researcher, so it’s natural for me to want to bone up. But I think it’s probably good to wait until the kid is starting to poke out of me before I subject myself to more freak out.

Right now, I can just comfort myself with knowing what I should/shouldn’t eat, drink, do, etc. (I took some Aleve yesterday right before I read that that was a no-no.) I’m naturally inclined to follow the rules, but I’ve got a little rage-against-the-machine in me, too. So far, I’ve been Best Thing Everable to forgo my nightly glass of wine, and I kicked the three-a-day Coke Zero habit. I have, for the past two nights, eaten a Skinny Cow mint fudge bar after dinner. They’re suddenly the best things I’ve ever eaten.

And still running… though slowly! Today, I thought I was at a pretty normal pace, and I was almost a full minute over my normal time/mile. It was 19 degrees and I had a billion layers on, but this slow pace is becoming a trend. Oh, well, slower runs are better for fat-burning anyway, and if Ziggy wants slow, I’ll give it slow.

See? I can make myself feel better about most things.

UPDATE: And then, I read this: 11 Crazy Things I Did During Labor

Yikes.

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