Maybe you haven’t noticed this, but I’m a control freak. I’m a planner. The better I’m prepared, the better I can handle the unexpected and unpredictable when it happens.
At 32 weeks, I’m starting to worry. About everything. Ever-steady Bertrand is not. He never freaks out about anything, which is an excellent foil to my high-strung freak outs. My need to control is manifesting itself by an intense need to research, plan, and debate baby gear.
“Bertrand, do you think we need two strollers because the Bob’s going to be so bloody big? What are we going to do on the airplane?”
“Bertrand, you know how we’d decided we weren’t going to get a crib, because we’ll have the pack-n-play, and our stuff might not show up to Freetown for at least six months? Well, I want a crib.”
“Bertrand, how many bottles should we start out with?”
“Bertrand, how do you feel about feminine diaper bags, since you’re going to be at home with the baby for the first few months? Do you think you and I should have our own, or should we share?”
“Bertrand, do you think we ship baby food to Freetown, even though we spent $300 on a food processor so that I could make it myself?”
“Bertrand, do you think we have enough cold weather gear to get us through the 10 weeks before we leave for Freetown?”
“Bertrand! Bertrand! Bertrand!”
He listens to me, offers a well reasoned point of view, then hugs me and tells me that everything is going to be OK, no matter what equipment we buy or don’t buy. We keep reminding ourselves that babies grow up with no gear, no posessions, and no “stuff” all over the world, but dammit, we want things to be perfect for Lucky.
Also, baby gear is fucking adorable.