I don’t like change at all.
I live in a perpetual state of nostalgia for whatever used to be, always worrying that the now is never going to compare to what has passed, always fearing that I will never be as happy in the future.
I hated moving to Curacao, and I hated moving back to Canada. I didn’t want to leave my high school, and sobbed like a baby in my mother’s arms the night before I started university. I loved my university so much that I still miss it, so I sobbed and then suffered depression when I graduated from it. I even found it difficult to leave a job I hated when I got my dream job.
The only transitions I never found difficult involved being with Perfect Husband. Practically from the moment we agreed to date, we were talking about moving in together. He waited a year to propose, but that was more out of propriety than any kind of insecurity on his part. I was afraid of moving to BC, but I was so happy just to be with him that I piled my stuff into my car and drove across the country with him happily. I would change continents with him in a heart beat. I was so happy on my wedding day that I was shaking in nervousness, but not frightened.
But all the rest of change – terrifying.
Now I’m about to have my life get turned upside down. OUR life turned upside down. FOREVER.
And I’m freaking out.
Why on Earth did I ever allow myself to conceive a child? I mean, sure, I’ve been broody since I was 16 and fell in love with my baby-think-it-over. I loved caring for a baby robot, but so what? Sure, I’ve been mentally explaining things like boiling water and how brakes work to my imaginary future children for decades. Sure, the whole time PH and I were on our honeymoon we were thinking how much we wanted to bring our kids back there with us some day. Sure, I nearly cried when holding a coworker’s newborn baby last year.
But why did I think any of that meant I was ready for a baby?? I should have left well enough alone. Holy crap, what have I done??