My crazy

I haven't written a real blog in a while, so here goes.

Ryan likes to remind me that I'm a world class worrier sometimes, but the fact is, I am a worrier and kind of a pessimist, which is a really bad combination. Pessimist isn't the word I want. Maybe it's just melodramatic.

I go to REALLY dark places when I worry. I've come to accept that about myself. I've also drawn the line on acting on those fears. To me that's the line between neurotic and full blown nuts.

For instance, the first few months after Rory was born I was hormonal. A lot of change, a lot of physical adjustment, completely understandable. If the baby cried and Ryan checked on her and she quieted, I would start to worry that perhaps he had smothered her with a pillow in a fit of new parent desperation.  I knew this hadn't happened. My husband, her father, would never do that. And so I didn't move to check, but waited for him to come back and say she was ok. That was the line, acting on that irrational fear born of hormones and stress was unacceptable.

Tonight I had another one. We gave away our spare washer and dryer on freecycle.org, and the new owners came to pick it up today, while I was out studying. I tried to get ahold of Ryan for something, and he didn't answer either of his phones after multiple tries. I assumed he was busy with Rory, and then that piece of crazy acted up and it occurred to me the new owners may have been ax murderers who slaughtered them and I needed to get home asap. I know, I know. Guess what? They're all fine. And I didn't act on the stupid thought in my head, because I recognize it for what it is.

I can't place where it comes from or why. When Rory was smaller and had been asleep in her crib for too long I'd worry she'd slept too long (why wasn't I just grateful?!?!?). I'd want to interrupt what I was doing to check on her, and Ryan would point out that if something had happened, there wouldn't be anything to do about it.

That's the thing about my micro panics. They are always things that if they'd occurred, I couldn't stop or do anything about it at the point it occurs to me. These little freak outs are THAT pointless. They aren't even preventative. I can't keep Ryan from checking on Rory so that I can micromanage. I can't stay home and ward off washer and dryer serial killers with my ninja skills. I can't sit in Rory's room and watch her take every breath. They're all so pointless.

And if I acted on them? If I interrupted Ryan's daddy time, drove home to ensure the survival of my family, checked Rory every two minutes? I'd be crazy. I'd drive myself and everyone around me crazy.

It's funny, all of these examples are Rory centric. Maybe it's just part of being a parent. I don't remember it happening before her birth. Oh sure, I worried. But it wasn't flashes of blind, irrational panic at her safety. I've solved the mystery. Thanks for listening!