Man, being a parent is rough. I think there are about as many philosophies for raising children as there are children. For someone who readily admits their inability to do things unless they do it well, a baby without instructions is not the quickest fit. I was an overachiever before Mabel came along, although I'd made a lot of progress since I moved to Eugene. Some days I feel like I'm regressing toward my pre-Eugene self. There are moments I catch a glimpse of my subconscious and, to my chagrin, I realize that I am expecting my child to fit into my life easily and without much crying. To my credit, she doesn't cry much, so its not as if I'm expecting the impossible. But I caught myself thinking that today, and I felt embarrassed. Embarrassed to admit that I wish a six month old could wear a watch; that I am sometimes caught off guard when she wakes up from a long nap (is that MY baby??); that in so many ways I still expect my life to continue the same as it has always been; embarrassed that sometimes I think she cries intentionally to tick me off. These are, of course, perfectly normal and experienced by thousands of parents, I'm sure. And so I point back to my first confession: I hate to be wrong. I hate not knowing or not being confident about my decisions. Either I do something, or I don't. Vaccines linked to autism? Accumulated sleep deficiency leading to depressed learning ability? 1 out of 3 kids her age to develop diabetes based on food choices? Hormones in meat to lead to early puberty? I feel terribly ill equipped to deal with the responsibility of making these decisions for another human.
I wanted to post about another topic entirely (embracing routine and the mundane), but this is what came out. I guess it was on my heart. Hopefully I'll sleep a little easier tonight.
In any case, waking up to the cutest baby in the world does help.