All morning long, I’ve been working on The Document. It’s four pages in Microsoft Word that capture a “general overview” of our kids’ lives — where to find the diapers, what kind of snacks they like, what time bedtime is. When we had to go to the hospital with Gal Smiley, I wrote an even longer document just for the Captain, with his full schedule and details about how to get to the park and where we keep his favourite books and, basically, how to breathe in his presence. I was pretty paranoid about leaving him with someone else — at the time, he’d never been left with anyone else, ever — and I just panicked at the thought that maybe, just maybe, while we were at the hospital, he’d really really need to hear “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” one more time, and no other book would do, and the babysitter wouldn’t know that we keep it in his top bedside table drawer, and I’d be a complete and total failure as a mom. So, it all went into The Document, which, in the end, I don’t think our friend RheostaticsFan actually looked at, even once, as she easily had everything under control and didn’t actually require someone else to explain to her, exactly in detail, how to prepare toast with jam. Shocking, I know.

So this time, I swore I would not do it, because it will mostly likely be RheostaticsFan and/or FameThrowa who wind up coming, and they can probably figure out which pair of shoes goes with which child. Plus, this time around, both the Captain and Gal Smiley are actually able to talk, and tell people what they want and how to do it just right.

But…I just couldn’t help myself. I’m clearly too anal, and obsessive, to just trust that they will actually survive an hour and a half without me (due to the shortness of Gal Smiley’s labour, we figure will be back home by then). It started with me “just jotting down” a few relevant phone numbers, and a list of the Captain’s food allergies. But then I felt like I should mention where we keep the epipens and asthma medication. From there, it was a short leap to details on where the diapers are…and a quick list of snack and meal ideas…plus some information on when they need to sleep, and when they like to eat…and may as well mention where the paint and markers are…oh, and why not write down some information on how to work our new universal remote, to watch TV and videos? And do you think you can figure out which bedroom is which, without my detailed writings?

I just really need to walk away at this point and declare it over and done with. I think writing it all down just makes me feel more prepared and secure about the whole birthing process, like, I don’t need to worry about the other two at all because if they happen to want to do some PlayDoh while I’m gone, I’ve left instructions on where to find it (and I’m talking instructions, like, “PlayDoh is in the blue cabinet in the office, the right-hand-side one, on the middle shelf, in a white Tupperware container with all the PlayDoh accessories”). Maybe this time around, I’ll just put a nice friendly warning at the top of The Document, saying something like, “I realise you are not a complete idiot, so please ignore everything contained within as the rantings of a hormornal pregnant lady.” Sorry in advance, RheostaticsFan and FameThrowa!