Tuesday, May 20, 2014

I May Never Be Polly….

Have you ever seen Along Came Polly? I LOVE that movie!!! Sadly, in real life, I'm not Polly. I would have to say I'm more like Rueben (Ben Stiller).

Yes, I worry. I tirelessly worry. It's a joke that I should be an insurance adjuster, because I see what could go wrong, just like Rueben.

The onset of my symptoms began 13 years ago in a small shady apartment.  I was peering at a little oval that would foretell my future.  The oval displayed a faded pink line.  Yes, I was indeed pregnant. Worry came over me; the hot feeling of worry.  I thought, "Oh dear, can we do this?" "Can I let another person's life depend on ME?"  Annnnnd if we are being completely honesty, I was worried about what my parents were going to say once my boyfriend (my husband) & I told them. That was just the beginning.

My worry grew stronger over the years with countless colds, fevers, bumps, bruises, asthma attacks, a tick bite (when I watched my child looking for signs of lyme disease for days) or that time my daughter had the flu during the swine flu epidemic and she seemed lifeless, and I couldn't do anything to take her pain away.

All those things sent me into a new prognosis of worry, which far exceeded the scratch of an RX pad.  I was in full on Worry Warrior mode.  I wore my worry like a badge of honor, saving kids from what could go wrong.  And then the summer of 2012 shook me.
I was emptying the dryer when I heard a bang so loud that I still hear it today.  The bang was followed by a cry, that I feel right this minute as I type. My son fell and hit his head on a drawer that wasn't closed all the way.  There was SO much blood, I couldn't tell if he lost his eye.  Thankfully he didn't but he did have a whole in the middle of face.

I had to react, I had to set aside my worry as I rounded up the kids and drove off to the ER panicked. My son was stitched up.
Sidenote* Because worry was all over my face the Doctor thought it would be best if I waited outside while they stitched-up my baby.  Stupid worry.
That wasn't it for the Summer of 2012, a few short days later my daughter fell off her bunk bed ladder, again I heard a loud noise followed by a cry.  She fractured her ankle, and once more I was faced with rounding up the kiddos and taking them to the ER (because you know things never happen when Papa is home).  That was the year I developed the fear of noises of course, further catapulting my worry.
I hear a noise now, and I worry.  I've created all sorts of scenarios of what that noise could've been and wait for the cry to follow, or sprint to the noise.

This year my worry for my children and adapting socially was heightened with our move from Chicagoland to South Carolina. I worried about the transition, making new friends, and fitting in.  My eldest took the move here the hardest.  My oldest is 12 and that alone is enough for me to worry.  She was sad, she missed home, and her light wasn't as bright.  I worried.
She slowly began to make new friends. I was eager to hear the new names she spoke from her happy lips that smiled as her light began to brighten.
Yet, there I was thinking… I cannot wait for softball to startup.  Yes, me, the Worry Warrior who fears noises, bumps, bruises, blood, cries for help, amongst various other things, could not wait for softball season to begin.
Softball is the game my daughter loves to play.  Softball is the game I love to watch her play.  It's the sport that is just more than a game.  It's that sport that fires her up and turns up that light.
She has a refreshing confidence when she plays.
When she hits the field she becomes the wall.

When she is in the dugout she's amongst her extended sisters who root each other on, building bonds over sunflower seeds and softball cheers.
When she's on the field she's fueling the fire in her little sister, who also wants to be on that field just like her big sister.  

When she's on the field although worry somewhat is still there, it's slightly muted because I know she is happy.
She is brave on the field doing her thing.

I may never stop worrying. Hell let's be real I WILL NEVER stop worrying. Nonetheless, I don't want my worry to infringe on my children's happiness, and what makes them the confident rays of light I want reflecting on me.
Rueben can be taught new tricks.

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