I may have inherited a bit of that melancholic anxiety. It's so easy for my brain to imagine, and try to prepare for, the worst. Vaginal tears, bleeding nipples, losing the pregnancy again, never sleeping, being permanently fatter and stupider, missing friends, fighting with Mr Cat, getting criticized by other parents.
I was much slower to imagine the good parts - seeing all my friends meet them for the first time. receiving adorable gifts. watching Mr Cat become a great father. seeing my dad tear up. the pride and relief of surviving the ordeal. strangers smiling as we walk past. just holding the baby in a peaceful moment.
It will be hard, but it won't be misery every second, even on the hardest days.
I worry about my ability to "handle it" and also what kind of world am I bringing this child into? income inequality, racism, climate change, overpopulation?
But when is a good time? I think of my own ancestors I know about, choosing hope & life during Depression, destitution, war, as refugees. I think of the ones I don't know, who surely lived through famine, plague, abuse, frail health, and other terrors. If any one of them had chosen despair, I wouldn't be here.
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