do not panic

The other night I had a mini-meltdown. I knew it was coming. Instead of being my usual moody self these past seven or so months, I've actually been quite content. It's like this pregnancy has given me happy hormones, which I love. But, the other night I lost it.

I think it's just been the increasing level of stress. It's the end of the semester. I've had research deadlines to meet. I've had papers to grades. And, we've had lots and lots of people giving us advice, which we haven't necessarily asked for. I know everyone means well, but sometimes, you've just got to let a girl and guy and a dog figure out their own way.

So, when I grabbed a pan off the stove that was filled with water (unbeknownst to me) and sausage grease, spilling it all over our already pretty disgusting (aesthetically and cleanliness-wise) kitchen floor, I kind of freaked. All of the sudden the hideous dining room light fixture, the half-painted nursery, and the partially completed guest room seemed too much to handle. I kept thinking, "I cannot bring Baby Beeton back here. We'll have to stay at The Hay-Adams for at least the first six months."

Nevermind that until Sunday night, we had made some good progress - especially for a pair of notorious procrastinators. We'd taken a breastfeeding class at the Breastfeeding Center of D.C. and signed up for a pumping class and an infant care class there in the next few weeks (what can I say? I'm a teacher... I love classes). We'd ordered our crib. I've been keeping up with my prenatal yoga classes (which I love ) at Lil Omm. We'd taken our labor and delivery class. And, we'd toured the hospital. Not to mention we'd scheduled an appointment with our pediatrician. But none of that mattered to me when faced with a greasy kitchen floor.

Today, though, things seem much better. I have only nineteen, 15-page research projects to go and only twenty-six rewrites left to grade. We've come up with a plan for finishing the nursery. And, today was the last day of classes for me until Fall 2012. So, really, what's a little grease on the kitchen floor, right?

Keep sweeping, Martha