a big decision

One night while working on my quilt Ian decided to spring the "Big Decision" on me. It's not one that I'd given much thought to, but it was heavy. It's the "Who do we ask to raise our child if we both die?" question. Whew. So instead of working on my quilt and being relaxed and happy, we talked about the possibilities because I thought it might be rude to slip my fabric happily along thorough the feeder during the discussion.

That my mom is too old, but our first choice. That my sister is only 22 and not established in her life and raising a child might over-burden her, plus, we're not convinced that growing up in Scott County, Virginia, and all that entails, is what we want for our child.

Then we discussed our friends and mostly categorically dismissed them: They're perfect, but they live overseas; He's much older than she is; They're great parents, but their relationship borders on the abusive; They'd be wonderful but they live in upstate New York and her health is precarious, etc.  Whew.

Basically Ian's priorities are that our replacement parents live in this area so that the grandparents are involved in baby's life, that they be our age or younger, and that they're a traditional two-parent household. Oh, and that they're financially okay, though our babe should have some $$$ coming to it should we perish. I agree that most of those are sound criteria, but I'd still prefer that my mom be our first choice if it is something she can take on, and I doubt that it is.

What else? I'm slowly working to de-clutter our computer/sewing room, for that is where the baby will be. The state of that room is embarrassing.  But we're hoarders who feel that our time is better served by leisure and not by obsessively keeping our bits and pieces tidy. Now it's come back to haunt us. And, all that cleaning and snuffling around in dust is so very very bad for me.

My pregnancy is high risk because of my age and my asthma. My step-dad, the retired OB/GYN, said that my immune systems essentially shut down in order to accept Ian's foreign-body sperm and get on with fertilization and the whole party. I'm much more susceptible to asthma attacks than I was previously. So walking from my car to the library each morning stresses out my lungs what with all the yuck and pollen in the air.

This asthma and allergies have always been the best excuse for never cleaning, because stirring up dust throws my lungs into a fit. And cleaning products make me loopy and quicken the descent of a major modern migraine upon my poor head. Yet, I must take responsibility and clean out baby's room. My mom offered to help. I may take her up on it, but I know she is of the "Throw it all out" school of cleaning, and I'm of the "Take my time and go through it and end up storing 70% of it" school.

Comments

[del]

Yes, that "who gets our kids" discussion can be pretty hard. We don't have a whole lot of options either, so I just hope at least one of us lives 'til they're all over 18!

[JC]

I'm so not a cleaner. Make sure you wear a pollen mask or something when stirring up all that dust!