I am, quite possibly, the ultimate planner. That’s not to say that my plans always come to fruition or that they don’t change, or that I completely spaz when things don’t work the way I expect, but it doesn’t stop me from my total Type A, OCD tendency of being UBER ORGANIZED.
Yesterday hubby broached the subject of spawn (i.e. having our own, not the really awful SciFi movie). It’s always been one of those distant, in the future, after this or that hypothetical. But as hubby pointed out yesterday, we are 30 and 31 respectively, and we’re not getting any younger. So we had one of those Serious Talks about the legitimate (and freakishly soon) timeline for having kids. I confess it left me on the verge of totally flipping out. Nevermind the fact that most of my friends have kids now. My honorary niece turned THREE yesterday (holy crap that makes me feel old).
To combat the flip out, I started making one of my Lists about all the things that need to be accomplished, taken care of before birth of said spawn (and before attempting creation of said spawn). It’s a really long list, which led to a compromise of 6 months after he wanted and 6 months before I wanted.
Which means life is about to get even BUSIER because there’s a long list pertaining to getting our current house ready to SELL so that we can buy a new, bigger house next summer. And given our budget, it’s a given that we’ll need to do more to that new house than just paint, so I’m building in time to do any updates to new house–paint, floors, whatever–none of which can easily be done while preggo. Preggo brain and power tools and paint DO NOT MIX.
Then there’s paying off of vehicle loans, etc., saving for larger downpayment, getting into as good a physical shape as humanly possible, having a few months to enjoy finally getting back to my goal weight before growing a parasite (babies are totally parasites and pregnancy always makes me think of Aliens–none of this fluffy baby fever for me), and most importantly to me, time to get as many titles out as I possibly can between now and then so that, hopefully, the passive income stream generated by my fiction will be enough to make up for the teaching that I’ll be letting go at that point (because no way am I trying to work 2 jobs and have a kid–that’s lunacy). So we seem to be on the same page, and I’m feeling all weird and grown up and crap.