Make Believe

So the day has finally arrived when reality softly starts sinking in. We finished cleaning our old house today, and tonight we give our keys back. Little empty house, looking a little sad without all my favorite things inside of it, and I'm realizing I may never see the inside of it again. I must have arrived at the weepy stage of the 2nd trimester. Suddenly I'm weepy instead of stoic. Still a bit barfy, but let's not go there (although I'm curious whether it's worse to be stoic and barfy or weepy and barfy.)

As proof that my emotional and mental stability are soon to resemble soft-set jello, I took it upon myself to watch an obviously weep-inducing film over the weekend. I sat there on the couch between Renn and my mother and watched Unstrung Heroes. My mother, who works in hospice, was all interested in the symbolic stages of grief, human need for religion in crisis, expression of honest and pure emotion (even by the mentally ill) as opposed to those who live in perpetual denial, etc. She was on an intellectual roll. I, on the other hand, the queen of "let's discuss this film for 2 hours after we watch it" - just sat there and sobbed. It reminded me of when I watched "Wit" for a directing class and cried so hard my nose was a fountain and my face was so wet and salty that I required 2 boxes of Kleenex, and gave myself a mighty migraine. That's the kind of emotional train wreck that I am becoming. Fun, no?

The impending move to Philadelphia is starting to loom large as well. A part of me is excited (okay, a big but hesitant part) about the cultural opportunities, the proximity to oodles of opportunities to expand my mind, and the tiny hope that I might be able to go back to school for another financially useless but eternally enriching degree. The other part of me is hyperventilating (still) about the thought of being in a huge strange place with a newborn (which, by the way I have no idea how to take care of...) while my otherwise supportive husband has to throw himself headlong into surviving the "weeding out" year of Dental school and I can't expect much of him and I might just die. How can I expect to enjoy all of those lovely cultural things I look forward to if I'm going to have to lug around baby and baby gear? It's a slightly depressing thought. (Although I know it can be done, have seen it done, and admire those who do it... the baby toting thing)

And another secret, tiny spot in me is worried I'm setting myself up for a horrendous bout with post pardum depression. Is that a valid worry? And if so, what can I do to prepare for /brace myself for/prevent it?