Letting go of shit and learning to manage the ''when I can's''

**this is a doodle from 400 days ago... when I firmly believed I'd never procreate--ha...heh...uh... ha**

I wouldn't say I've been reluctant...
Nor would I say I've been anti....

Let's just say I've been contently selfish with the course of my existence for all/many of my years. I've led a life full of choice and freedom.
I've worked the jobs I've wanted to in locations I've chosen at times that have suited me.
I've dated whom I've liked and wanted regardless of habit, reputation, influence, or outcome.
I've baked casual, day long meals and desserts from the whim of fleeting taste.
I've laundered at my convenience, showered at my choice, and napped at leisure.
I've hopped in my car, tossed my city in the rear view mirror, and fled town for nights of camping and booze.

It began to dawn on me last night as I climbed into bed at 9pm, but didn't really hit me in the face until I took a long, hot shower at 9am.... in just a few short months, all of my ''when I want to's'' are going to morph into ''when I can's'' and this life of mine that has always revolved around MEEEE is soon to revolve around a Nugget.
There's a'change a'comin'.
I ask myself if I'm ready for it. How can I prepare? How can I learn about the balance needed to continue to honor myself and my needs (while not feeling like a guilty, shitty, selfish mother) and put my Kiddo first?

**This is the part in Sex in the City where the camera pans away from Carrie's column of writing self talk questions and the action resumes, unfolds, happens, peaks and perhaps resolves with a life lesson in tow. Aaaaaaaand... GO!**

I don't have an answer. I'm still preggo with 9 weeks and one day (allegedly) to go--I'm living in a land of conjecture, fear, and hope. It's a constant mash up of all three pieces of crazy possibility pie.
If fifteen years of Burning Man has taught me anything, it's that self-care is important and nobody else is gonna do it for you. Your ass is gonna dehydrate and bake if you don't drink water and put on sunscreen--and your ass will be miserable. And made fun of.
A few years ago I had the pleasure of nannying my youngest nephew. When I began he was a fresh little three month old bundle of little boy love and I got to watch my brother become a Dad instantly and over time. I think the three of us were on a walk and though I can't recall the root cause of the topic, we sort of splashed over into the realm of self-care as a parent.... although, in a very brotherly way.

He told me in his infinite brotherly honest wisdom,
"Look Mal, if I'm holding Wyatt (the bebe) and he's fast asleep and it's taken hours to get him there... but I, Dad, have to take the meanest shit of my entire life... I'm not gonna sit there and hold it for him. I do him no favors holding my shit in, all I do is hurt myself and therefore not be the best Dad I can be. So I'll wake him up, jostle the little fellow, trample to the toilet, and take that massive shit for myself. Gotta put me first. Poops and all."

I hope when my time comes... and I've got Nugget nestled deep in my arms of sleep... I find the courage to take the shit I need, the shower I should, the ten minutes I have, and the offered help of those around me. It's been a pattern of mine to gift over lengths of my personality to the lucky fellow I'm dating and put myself second out of sacrifice and overly generous love. This relationship I've got cooking in my belly is like nothing I've ever been privileged to before....

I hope I can shit.
For me and for Nugget.