I hate asking for help. My mom died when I was 18 and since then, I think that I am supposed to handle everything on my own. It's not true and it annoys other people. People like to help and it feels good to feel needed.
Now that we know it's a girl, I have several friends who are pumped to clean out their garages and to pay the baby goods forward. It's time to start filling my garage and I need to pick up a crib, a "pack and play" and some other stuff so that my friends Pete and Monica can leave for the holidays with a clean garage.
I know this is one of those things I need to include S in. I also feel like I should be able to figure it out myself and prove my efficiency. I can get Trevor or Drew to help. I can shove it all in my Golf. But why? He's the dad. He has a truck and he needs to be offered the chance to help.
He calls me around 11. I am leaving the gym and headed home. We have non-specific plans which may include a hike (he's been sick). I lay this down as an option. He's in. He'll come by at 2 for a short hike, then we will get the stuff.
We climb through the "Mushroom Caves" in Solana Beach (super fun if you have not been). We stop to talk to some birders. We go to Starbucks (I have to pee all the time) and run into one of my favorite former co-workers from Equinox. S definitely sees my hyper and excited side (it's big) and he doesn't ditch me. Phew.
Pete and Monica live close to me and we wait for them to get home from their family photo shoot. They have two girls (ages 2 and 4) and the younger one was born when they were our age. Monica and I hang back while they load the stuff in to the truck. I am unexpectedly emotional and starting to fall apart.
I don't know if is intentional, but S distracts me with the plot of a Will Ferrell movie.
We unload everything in to my garage. We are both deep in our own thoughts and the physcial "stuff" makes the baby even more real. I don't want to look at it and we both need space. It's good -- it's just a lot to process.