The truth of it is, his doors (bedroom and closet) are ordered. The wood is at Von Tobel's awaiting pick up, the stain has been purchased and is waiting to be used. The walls are painted (thank you, Lauren and Zach), and we have all his furniture and decor, it's just not up yet. He is not due to arrive for another 4.5 weeks, and most first babies are late, so there's definitely time. In my pregnant mind, however, it went more like this:
"He has no furniture set up! It doesn't matter that he'll be spending the first 3-6 months of his life in our room in his pack'n'play, HE HAS NO FURNITURE SET UP! I can't put anything away in his dresser, and his closet is currently stuffed with all the things I need to set up in his room. We can't put that together until we get the woodwork in, though. WHAT KIND OF MOTHER AM I? Oh lanta - I'm going to be a mom. What if I screw him up royally? I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this - WHO THE HELL LET ME GET PREGNANT AND BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANOTHER HUMAN???"
It went on like this for most of the day, me holding back tears just knowing that I'm going to wind up screwing up this poor boy beyond all reason. I emailed Zach and practically ripped the guy a new one over something he has absolutely no control over (the doors are back ordered, and the baseboards/trim pieces are 12 feet long, so we're trying to find a way to transport them to our house). Then one of the ladies of the Moms of Boys board I follow on Facebook put up the following picture:
I am one of the few people in the world that knows how to fold a fitted sheet, BUT it took me a while to figure it out. I did a lot of praying last night when I got home from work, as that's one of the few things that pulls me out of a panic attack, and I slept pretty well last night. I woke up this morning thinking about the fitted sheet thing, how I had to learn how to do it, how I'll have to learn how to parent this little punker, and as I hopped in the shower a new revelation struck me - no one knows what they are doing. No child is the same as any other child, so all parents are making this up as they go. You have to learn how to parent your child based on that child's individual needs, wants, etc. In that one thought, all my anxiety melted away entirely, washed away by the hot water pouring over my head, and I felt a sense of relief. Between me, Zach, and God, we've got this - and you know what else? Isaiah is going to be an amazing little boy. He already is. He loves being sung to, squirms when he hears his daddy's voice, and likes to kick the cats off my belly. If I sit too long, he'll push into my ribs to make me stand and move around, so he's a great motivator for walking. Hymns calm him, hard rock makes him move (I picture him head banging in there, but who knows what he's doing). Swaying soothes him, and he definitely gets hangry (much like his parents - father especially).
If we get stuck, we can always go to our parents for guidance. I even have a few friends that are raising kids quite well - Sondra and her son leap immediately to mind. We may falter, we may screw up at times, but luckily this parenting thing has a learning curve - and I have the best guy in the world to partner up with and tackle it. With any luck at all, this kid will be just as wonderfully weird as his genetics will allow - and if you've ever met either Zach or I, or our respective families, you already know this kid is destined for greatness!
