The Law of Inertia

You know that satisfied feeling you get when you cross something off a to-do list? I am so enamored of that feeling that I will occasionally--OK, frequently--add already-completed tasks to a list, just for the sheer smug pleasure of crossing them off.

Today I accomplished the following: walked the dog (while wearing a 25-pound Tankbaby, so I count it as exercise) to the library so I could return a CD (are you paying attention? That's three things right there), did two loads of laundry, swept and mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed, made baby food, and wrote a card to my aunt. I also learned that, while imitating Tina Turner doing "Proud Mary" will greatly amuse a baby the first time you do it, repeated shimmies lose their power and the best you'll get will be a slightly condescending gummy smile.

So by five, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I cleaned up the dishes from the baby food while Tank sat on the newly-cleaned floor, pulling plastic storage containers out of a drawer and spreading them out around him, a tiny King of Tupperware, surveying his domain. He squawked and banged and had a delightful little burgeoning-object-permanence time.

By 5:15, I was surprised to find myself feeling a bit at sea. Jumpy. Wondering what else I could get done. Then, by 5:30, feeling anxious about what else I could/should do.

I am, whether through genetics or experience, terribly predisposed to fits of inertia. You know, a body in motion, etc. Before having a baby, I definitely tended to, um, "stay at rest." Which is code for "be a lazy, unmotivated ass." On a day off, if I had no plans, I could easily sleep in until 11, start a book at breakfast and sit on the couch with it until I fell back asleep. Rinse and repeat. Even in the moment, I realized how much I was wasting, what I could be doing, but it just seemed so...(whining) hard to get started.

And, of course, that was all the more true when I was trying to avoid something. I spent I'm too annoyed to think about how many hours staring blankly at a TV or book, just to avoid thinking about Mom being sick, halfway across the country. To avoid thinking about how far away I was feeling--well, not just feeling, moving--from my husband, who was embracing his new life here and never seemed to care about what we'd left behind. To avoid questioning the impulsive decision to move here in the first place. Of course, looking back now, I can see some of the hallmark signs of depression, but my, well, slacker baseline made it hard for me to see the difference at the time. I just knew that all of my thoughts at the time were unpleasant, so I was doing what I could not to have them. Besides, that couch was so comfy! And, ooh, a Law & Order episode I'd only seen four times!

Now, I've run a theatre company, studied voice and guitar, and gotten a master's degree, so clearly I can get motivated. The problem is that, the flip side of the inertia coin is that, once I get going on tasks, I get so revved up (Accomplishing! Things!) that I get hyper and tend to, as my husband puts it, jump on his head. I get annoyed at any obstacle to my efficiency, and woe betide you if you cross my Donna Reed On Crack path.

And, as I've noted, having a baby has forced me to be efficient if I have any hopes of accomplishing anything. And things suddenly seem more important. Before, if my kitchen floor wasn't clean (and, make no mistake, it wasn't), it didn't matter, unless you were a fervent believer in the Five Second Rule. But now, I have this creeping, mouthing little amoeba whose sole purpose in life is to try to reverse Darwinism, so a clean floor is at the top of my list. And the time I have to accomplish things is limited to naps or contented baby moments where he will tolerate not being in direct bodily contact with mama.

And so this evening, having accomplished everything on my list and then some, I found myself stupidly, pointlessly antsy, wondering if I could bake some cookies, back up my hard drive, and repaint any chipped lead-oozing doorframes before bed. Not because I wanted to do those things (well, maybe the cookies), but because I was in the mode and couldn't shake the must-do jitters.

But I try to remember that he's only going to be this age once, that I don't have to do this all myself, and that dirt builds the immune system. I took a deep breath, sat down, and watched my son learn about gravity. And that, while I'm all for him exploring his environment, I draw the line at licking the dog bowl.