It may come as a shock to you, readers, but sometimes I can be a tad dramatic. A tad, mind you, nothing extreme or over the top or hysterical. And really, I am only dramatic about things that are important, like school and family and the cats and what the crap am I going to eat for dinner because we do not have a crumb of food in this entire house!
Like last night. Rusty rode his bike down to his mom's house to get some cable thing we accidentally left there, and at the precise moment he left I heard the screeching of tires. I, in my totally calm and collected way, automatically assumed that the screeching was of course because some madman, high on crack and Doritos, had run over my adorable and indispensable husband, leaving him on the street with a nasty head wound and a broken leg. I had a brief moment of panic as I waited for him to come back. He did come back, don't worry.
Then today, I was sitting in Cognitive Psych, trying desperately to stay awake and not think about how hungry I was, when it occurred to me that I hadn't felt the baby kick in a while. As the seconds oozed by I tried to recall the last time I had felt any movement and I couldn't, for the life of me, remember any. I quickly jumped to the worst case scenario, the one that involves spontaneous abortion. I concentrated entirely on my stomach, waiting for the tiniest sign of life. Four hours later, when the baby started moving, I finally stopped worrying.
I was thinking about this, about how pregnancy turns women in ordinarily normal women into total crazy worrying freaks. We worry about what we eat, what we breathe, what we wear, how we sleep, how much weight we gain, how much weight we don't gain, how much weight we carry, whether we'll buy enough diapers, whether we will ever get to sleep again, whether the baby is ok in there. I could go on, quite literally, for pages. I thought for a second that this nutty worrying business would go away when I have the baby, and wow what a relief that will be. Then I remembered, oh yes, when I have the baby I will actually have the baby and no, the worrying will not stop. I will continue to worry about this baby for the rest of my life, and yes, the worrying will likely be nutty and crazy and dramatic.
Being a mother is exhausting. Now, where are the hot Cheetos?