If I was a Super Hero, I’d be super anxiety gal. I’d probably wear yoga pants because this 19-weeks-pregnant ass should never be crammed in to spandex, but I’d surely have a cape and probably a wrist-watch thing that could read the future and comfortable shoes.
Not that I’ve given this much thought or anything.
See, I have this secret power in which I take my worst fear and turn it in to reality. Lately, I’ve noticed how much more afraid I am when I’m pregnant. I’m afraid something is going to be wrong with the baby. I’m afraid my husband will die and not be here to see this baby grow in to a person and want to borrow the car and get witty and crass. I’m afraid this terrible cough my daughter has will spread in to some horrible virus and she’ll die well before we ever really appreciate all she can do or be.
I know you think I’m really off my rocker here, but it gets worse.
When I am pregnant, I have the ability to take some random passing thought I may have under normal circumstance and turn it in to reality. For example: My thought process can quickly turn from, “I haven’t heard from Mr. Flinger to know if he’s going to stay late tonight. .... I wonder how the ride to work was this morning? It WAS icy… I wonder if he ended up in the ditch.. OH MY GOD, there was an accident on the freeway this morning. That was my husband. SOMEONE CALL ME! My husband is dead! What will I do? I’m shaking now, I gotta call the police.” Just about then he calls and says he’s on his way home and I forget I went clinically insane for thirty seconds.
Or like when I’m rocking my daughter and her snotty nose before bed and she’s biting her binki because she can’t breathe through her nose and there’s a suck/bite/suck/bite pattern as she tries to soothe herself to sleep. I think to myself, “if she bites the tip of the binki off, she’ll probably choke on the end. That thing could be lodged in her throat and I’d find her dead by morning. We have got to wean her off that baby-killing-binki! Why does she still have it? Baby Killers! Those damn binki manufacturers! BABY KILLERS!”
Then I go up four times to check on her and make sure she’s still alive and quietly move the binki to the other side of the crib. Like I said. Clinically insane, I’m sure.
It’s not that I’m like this all the time. In fact, the reason I can make fun of myself is that this is so far from who I really am. I’ve jumped from an airplane at 18,000 feet. I’ve climbed a mountain. I’ve moved across the country leaving my mom and dad six states behind to take a job in a place promising a new life. So this girl that can’t let one tiny thought go without obsessing is someone I’m not really a fan of. Unless she can get in with Spider Man. That would make Super Anxiety Girl a little worth it.