I have free time, I feel like I need to be using it. Doing something. Accomplishing.

That’s been a little challenging as of late. The whole growing a human thing. Last night, I had grand plans of getting shit done. Or more like, in order. Same thing to me. Just those pesky things I have yet to organize that should be organized and that item called a Birth Plan to finalize.

It’s a new thing, I think. These Birth Plans. I’m sure a lot of People would laugh at me about it, but I’d rather be prepared and nowadays, there is so much shit that happens after your baby is born. It seems a bit overboard, but what do I know. I’m just another preggo lady.

I want to make sure I’ve covered my bases and my wishes are known — like not whisking my child away immediately to do tests and shots, in case I happen to be out of it during or after this kid arrives. Hell, maybe even before.

When I have the house all to my lonesome and it’s so peacefully, blissfully quiet, the last damn thing on the face of the Earth that I feel like doing is typing up a final draft of my Birth Plan. Or anything else for that matter.

I want to sprawl out on the chaise part of the couch with the cats and Murph and stare aimlessly at a 50inch screen and zone.

Zoning is a beautiful thing at times, isn’t it. I don’t want to have to think of what else needs to get crossed off the list or checked off. I just want to … be. While I still can, with just me.

I don’t know, maybe I’m afraid of losing myself with this baby. Some part of who I am. Hence the rebellion. I just know that I need time. A lot of it. More than 10 weeks. But 10 is the magic number at the moment.

Not like more time is going to do a damn thing. I’ll still never feel quite ready, fully prepared. I’ll still question my soon to be Mothering skills.

And I’ll probably always wonder what in God’s name possessed some soul to choose ME as their mom.