Let me just mark my calendar...

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a little obsessive-compulsive. A lot of it stems from having a pretty bad memory, so I cherish my lists and my calendars. Yes, I have more than one of each.

I make lists about all the different things I want to do at my house, in my life, at work -- things that need to be done and things I just don't want to forget to do someday. That's also the reason behind all my calendars: I want to ensure I remember what I've done, and appointments and birthdays and anniversaries that are on the horizon.

So I know that my grandfather-in-law's 80th birthday is coming up. And I know that my mother-in-law is throwing him a party. And I even know the date of it -- Aug. 15. But I can't put it on my calendar. I can't commit to it in the way I have to, say, "Melissa & Rob's Wedding" on May 1, or "Boston Trip w/Family" from May 22 through 24. I can't guarantee attendance at any event taking place after July 1 (with the exception of doctor's appointments), because I have absolutely no idea where I will be, or whether or not we'll have become Steph and Bill and Baby makes three. (And Maeberry makes four.)

It's very nerve-wracking. It's like when you know you're walking into a room where people are going to jump out and scream surprise, but you have no idea when it's going to happen. The event itself will be wonderful, amazing, miraculous ... all of those things. But the anticipation of what's going to happen -- especially because it's all going to occur inside or just outside of my body -- is a lot to handle. And when you add to it the inability to plan in spite of an overwhelming urge to plan, well... Let's just say that I'm going to be one anxious fat lady come July!