So much for things being normal, or boring.
I try not to worry too much about the emotional mechanics of how things will work, or how different things will be, or my kids being forced (again) to cope with such big change in their lives. It’s fruitless… I can worry myself into a state of unhappy agitation, and I’ll still have no valid prediction of the future. Worrying over something rarely prepares you for its eventuality. Besides, they say we worry about 6 million things in our lifetime, and only eight of them actually occur.
I attempt not to think too much about the ominous concept of Blending A Family. That seems pointless, too. We’ll just be ourselves and do what we do, the way we have been doing, and we’ll work out the inevitable kinks and knots as they appear. I’m not sure there’s any other way to do this, really. There’s no instruction manual for this kind of thing. And if there is one, it’s probably written by someone who’s unjustifiably smug and unrealistic.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. That’s the best of my intentions written down.
In reality, as of right now, I’m atrophied and sluggish with worry and fret and apathy. In reality, this is taking a mum who is completely accustomed to sporadic bouts of occasional freedom from parenthood, her two relatively needy children, and a man who had made the decision never to have children, and throwing them together in place that’s unfamiliar.
What could possibly go wrong?
It’s difficult not to be cynical when it’s my children whose hurt and confusion would run deepest, should something go wrong and everything fall apart.
I remind myself that we risk our children’s happiness all the time. As parents, we’re always making choices that determine the future of our kids. It’s a matter of surveying the available information, ensuring you have their best interests at heart. Then you make the decision as best you know how, and deal with the fallout if it happens.
I know that no matter where we live, I’ll do what I can to ensure my kids the best life I can give them. I know the man I’ve chosen for us to live with is a gentle, loving, caring person, and that he’ll treat my children with the respect they deserve, as the little people they are.
That’s the best I’ve got, for now. I think that’s all we need.
It’s time to make an active effort to ignore the butterflies eating away at my stomach lining, for the next few days at least. I need to stop worrying and start packing.