Now, don't worry, that time is behind us—he's a healthy, happy, plump grape of a child and hasn't cried since, as if he got it all out in those first few months. But that relentless, uncontrollable stretch of time obliterated almost two years of carefully manufactured resolutions.
And in doing so, it taught me something that only a terrible pregnancy and an outrageously stubborn baby could: We are delusional to think we can control life and tie it up with a neat, minimalist bow
I know, I know, doesn't that make you uncomfortable? Me, too. Deeply so. I viscerally understand the crisp and satisfying feeling of belief in one's ability to control our lives, the reassurance one feels from envisioning a more capable future you, one who meal preps and knows how to fold a fitted sheet.
But life doesn't work like that. Life isn't a bullet journal or a motivational spreadsheet. It's messy and unpredictable. It laughs at your five-year plan by lobbing an existential curveball your way. Sometimes in the form of a job loss, a family tragedy, a mental health crisis, a screaming baby—or some disastrous combination of it all.
That period in my life was hard. Hard and messy and dark and beautiful (retrospectively, of course). It completely reshaped my understanding of preparedness, or more so, one's ability to prepare for the gloriously unpredictable nature of being human. It humbled me in a way hard times humble us all, in a way no one really wants but sometimes we so desperately need.