There are few things in life that you can categorically declare yourself ready for, unwavering and full of self assured confidence, no questions. Although often billed that way – you just know, wait until the time is right, blahblahblah – it rarely goes down like that.
My own personal readiness for things has been vaguely guesstimated at best and hastily rushed into to, eyes squeezed shut and arms flailing wildly before properly thinking it through at worst.
Because are we ever really ready for anything and actually, if you torture yourself enough with a million and one unanswerable what if scenarios wouldn’t everyone’s belief waver?
When the husband looked up at me from bended knee on Christmas morning years ago and asked me to marry him I looked back and said yes. Between squeals and ohmyohmyohmyohmygods and while tears flooded into my eyes and while everything span for a second. Yes. I said yes and then I told everyone that I had said yes and then proceeded to make him say yes to all my little wedding day ‘wouldn’t it be nice to have…‘ whims and I didn’t question that yes once.
Until a few days before our wedding when more or less everything was done and checked and arranged. Until my wedding dress hung in its white cover, waiting to be unzipped and every last teeny tiny button fastened and the rings sat in their boxes ready to be slipped onto nervous fingers while loved ones watched and vows were recited.
That was when I decided to have a moment.
I said yes. Shit. Yes. Am I ready for this? Can I be someone’s wife? What if…?
And then I stood full of butterflies and clinging to my dada arm at the back of the little church and I looked down the aisle to the (extremely nearly) husband and he looked back at me and smiled and everyone else smiled and it was all OK.
A few months before then, there was an age of empty wombed broodiness and endless discussions about waiting and not waiting and trying and not trying and should we have a house and a mortgage first? What if…?
The (not quite but very nearly) husband did all the questioning and waiting until the time is right-ing before we both agreed that we both wanted a baby and we wanted it with each other and we were getting married so definitely sticking around so, well, why not really.
Four weeks later (clearly fate had determined that our time was indeed right) at 6am in the morning I sat against the locked door of the bathroom watching the second hand of my watch twitch achingly slowly past every long second.
2 minutes 57 seconds…
2 minutes 58 seconds…
(Do you see where this is going?)
2 minutes 59 seconds…sod it I’m looking now.
Shit. I’m pregnant. There is actually a baby in there. Ohmyohmyohmyohmygod. Am I ready for this? Can I be someone’s mummy? Shit. What if…?
I climbed back into bed next to the husband and lay watching the blind at the window sway in and out with the morning breeze while outside the town started to wake up and the birds sang and the sun poured through the gaps and warmed spots of the duvet. And then I woke the (not quite but very nearly) husband up with my cold feet on his toasty warm legs and a positive pregnancy test and he smiled and I smiled and we had made a baby.
A few months ago slumped exhausted in a uncomfortable chair in the doctors surgery my GP looked across her desk to ask if I wanted to stop taking my medication.
No. No, not yet. There’s too much going on and the times just not right and I don’t think I’m ready.
A few days ago I was back in the same chair in the same room saying ‘OK‘ to the same question from the same doctor.
All of these questions and all of their what ifs, they always answer themselves.
I said yes straight away to all three of these things because I knew it was right.
It’s just that sometimes I need to remember to remind myself when it all gets a bit warped and hard and stressful because the table plans just won’t tally / there is another human growing inside me / after nearly two years I have started the slow, painful process of becoming antidepressant free.