Sounds serious, right? It is. If I were a stuffed animal, Doc McStuffins would diagnose me with this ailment–Meticulousitis.
I am meticulous to a fault. It would be nice to find the cure for this, but, it’d be a tough one to undo. It would undo me. It is in my DNA.
Being meticulous is useful, but it’s also detrimental, at times, because it always makes me feel like I am rushed. And, in this day and age, where the pace is always a sprint, it creates anxiety. Meticulousitis, is a constant struggle.
It’s not all bad. It serves me well when I am editing, writing, managing a project, cleaning, or organizing. But, when I am packing for a vacation, or, simply trying to get out of the house, and pack a diaper bag; it’s a hindrance. It. Takes. Forever.
Prior to being a wife and Mommy, my Meticulousitis wasn’t so bad, because I was only responsible for myself. It was much easier to manage my time for a party of one. But, now, with our party of 4, I struggle to get out of the house on time and manage my time.
So, while there are some days I wish there was a cure for my Meticulousitis, I’ve learned to live with it, mostly by allowing an hour of extra time to get out of the house.
I need this time for my Meticulousitis, and any inevitable kid-tastrophies; like a kid pooping his diaper as we are leaving, a tantrum over wearing socks, or over wearing a coat. Whatever the issue may be, I’ve tried my hardest to leave extra time so that we aren’t grotesquely late.
But, be kind if we are late, we have good intentions, I have good intentions and I try my best not to let my Meticulousitis consume me.