Hormones, what with all the tears and anchovy sandwich cravings I’ve had while you put yourself together.

Lately, the nesting urge has struck, hard. It’s tough when I’m home all day, seeing the disorganized pantry, the dog fur covered stairs, feeling the laundry there, UNFOLDED. This doesn’t take into account that I am only working for a few more weeks until you join us outside of my body.

Baby, I’m not quite sure I’ve ever been as busy in my life as these recent months. Client work, book assembly, big Cheesewhizzes plans, bocce, cookbook club, mothering and more client work. Adding this urge to nest on top of that, well, nesting has been second-important.

But it’s this grumbly urge — this need that goes deeper than just launching a web site or finishing a layout. It’s primal. And completely insane.

I want to welcome you the way I welcomed your sister.

Baby, I have been awful about my energy with this pregnancy.
I’ve been anxious, nervous and tense.
I’ve worried about money, the way I am raising your sister and whether the dog is mad at me.
I’ve been a mess about everyone else.
I’ve been someone else.

And I apologize.
Now that I’ve had a second to clear my head, take a minute to look back at the pregnancy so far, I see that it’s time to start focusing on what matters.

Your arrival.
Your time here.
You.

After that?
It’s time to spend my time on my projects.
Instead of rushing to put out their perceived fires, it’s time I focus on mine.
On ours.

People will consume your energy if you let them, and I’m ready to douse that fire.
I don’t have the energy.

Baby, my dad was a man with a mean, mean temper. My other siblings didn’t get to experience his full wrath with the frequency and intensity that I did, but boy, let me tell you, it was brutal.

I took that as a lesson.
I learned that the way to get respect was to scare people, to bully them into doing what you wanted.
I was all of 17.

I yelled at my boyfriend, my sister and my mom.
I bullied my friends, my acquaintances, my teachers.
I was known for having a short fuse and for flying off the handle.

What a mess we created.

Before college, I’d decided I wasn’t going to be known as the “girl with the temper” anymore. I didn’t like being that girl. I was going to be nice, damn it.

And as easy as that, I became nice.

I tried on a new personality with a new group of friends, a group that wouldn’t have believed my previous anger.

Now that I have you and your sister in my life, I realize that some of these traits run a little deeper. Please forgive me if I lose my temper. Your even-keeled father is here to help me out and we’re committed to raising you coolly, calmly and happily. But even I can feel that familiar lick of fire in my chest.

It’s a daily struggle.