Using the Tools

It's not a secret to anyone who knows me what a worrier I am. My brain doesn't have the function that allows me to project into the future and see peaceful, serene images of joy and fecundity. I don't operate like that and just consider it something I happened to not inherit from my forebears....just like an aptitude for drawing human figures or long legs.

I am finding myself comforted by images that seem maternal and feminine and protective. I love this figurine I got in Argentina:

It reminds me of my vast group of friends and supporters who are helping me navigate my own neurosis, as well as the general ups and downs of pregnancy. And while there are lots of men who are doing the exact same thing, there's just something about the women. Law school friends, college friends, colleagues, sisters, mothers, Facebook friends-- I picture them all rooting for me and my family and keeping close by to each other and to me. What would I do if Carmin didn't give me tips on where to buy pants suitable for the workplace? Or if Kelly and Cindy didn't talk me off the ledge after I ate what I was CONVINCED was listeria-laden turkey? And what about Krista and Joyce and Debbie and Trish who take my calls day after day patiently listening to me process each inch of the experience from genetic testing to having a baby about 8 months into a marriage. With the audacity that I imagine only a first-time mother can possess, I have emailed everyone on Facebook I know who is pregnant or recently delivered asking the MOST personal and intrusive questions. In turn, these women have greeted my in-box questionnaires with love and kindness and compassion. Hollis and Ann and Jennifer and Leslie... such wonderful and open women.

And all that just happened this week!

Like my friends, I like to keep my Argentine lady friends close. They are on my nightstand, next to a picture of Pepps and the pee stick that started it all. Very sanitary, I know, I know. It's ironic that I worry about getting an extremely rare bacteria from turkey, which I have eaten exactly once in 15 weeks, but I think nothing of sleeping next to my own urine-soaked pee stick. What can I say? I am a woman of contradictions.