So. In a nutshell: I had my panties all in a twist because I’d worked my ass off and felt like I hadn’t properly been commended for doing so. Then, whilst marinating in my thoughts, I talked to a good friend, which prodded me to think more about what I do, and what I want, and how I really want to have another baby soon, and a comment she made hit a nerve. The next baby won’t be as happy as Riley.
Our conversation had taken many turns, and at the core of it was a fear that I hadn’t been brave enough to name. For every plan I was making, there were a dozen unstated phobias burrowing into my psyche. Mostly, I was worrying about people’s reactions and the future, aka All the things that are out of my control. I came out of my thinking session fully transformed and at ease – all because, point blank, my friend was right. I’d had my head too far up my own ass to care for two happy, well-adjusted, healthy and awesome little people, and the fact that I’d been getting bent out of shape over not making the Dean’s List kind of made that fact obvious.
Now I’m all zenned out. For reals. I think Rory might be slipping me some of her Ambien.
I’ve reached a strange and hard-won realization that hits every feel-good cliche in the book, and that’s probably because it’s so fundamental that people take it for granted: You’re not supposed to do things for approval or commendation or attention. You’re supposed to do them because they’re the right things to do and you can do them. That’s what life’s about and, sadly, I think I forgot that somewhere along the way.
Motherhood vs My ego? No contest.
Now back to your regularly-scheduled bad-assness.