It's Beyond My Control

When it was hot enough to melt balls earlier this summer and my gym membership was frozen (trying to save a few laid off dollars) all I wanted to do was go there and do my morning walk. Ah, the cool A/C. The free childcare and the chance to actually move my body without having to push a stroller, bend down to retrieve a shoe, sippy cup or tossed blanket. It sounded like bliss.

Bliss on an ice-cold stick.

Now, gym membership unfrozen and the weather a bit more relaxed, the sheer idea of driving to walk indoors makes me feel nothing but waste. A twenty minute walk suddenly turns into an hour. Get TD dressed, make sure the hungry beast that is me is sated for an hour or so, water bottle? Check. Wrangle kid into car and off we go driving ten minutes to walk. It just seems so bizarre. When I think of the walking at a much slower clip than ever before I get infuriated too. Mad, even. Yes, yes, I know I am pregnant and things need to slow down a bit, but it's sheer frustration for someone who likes to sweat to barely work up a drop now. To look at the classes going on in front of me and wish I could do them and run my ass off and know that I can't. It's maddening!

Then, last night it seemed all my frustration came to a head and I realized what it all really is. It's that everything is beyond my control and I am sick of it.

I hate it.

The green monster is there too. It is not just that when you are carrying a child so much of what your body and emotions do is beyond your control. You have to accept that. It is frustrating but it is what it is. Lob in a toddler and the bizarre exhaustion and inexplicable aches and pains of a second pregnancy and Viola! You have yourself a case of pure frustration that is beyond comprehension. At least for me. I feel as if I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER MY OWN LIFE.

Throw in an active spouse who plays basketball, works out at the gym a few times a week, runs outside when he can and can swill beer, white russians and whatever else he wants without even thinking about it and the green monster rears its ugly head with a fierceness that has surprised even me. I'm left breathless with the thought. I don't remember this with TD at all. Maybe I was too busy being a desk jockey all day and eating sausage, bacon and buttered biscuits from the work cafeteria to notice.

I see him move his body in ways that I can't right now and I want to burst into tears. It's now an effort for me to roll over in bed. Or get up from a chair. I see him be able to stay up late without gagging or feeling like his legs are going to run away from him from Restless Leg Syndrome and I want to beat the crap out of something. He can swill SBUX grande lattes with wild abandon while I can order decaf and wonder if I already ingested too much caffeine through chocolate yogurt and my morning cup of joe. Oh, sweet nectar that is coffee, I miss our wild times. I miss your highs and ways of comforting me. You are clearly an addiction and I am your slave.

Then, I think about how inevitably after this girl is born my work will take a backseat for a while. It will have to. There is no other way. Unlike a regular job with maternity leave, working from home is always there and so is the pull to do something, to keep pushing, to be better, to find more work and make more connections. And really? Truthfully? That idea is hard for me to swallow. It's like I'm losing part of me and suddenly I'm just a feed bag who is trying to find time to shower and a pair of pants that fit. Gone is any control whatsoever and any power I may have constructed.

That surprises me too. While I clearly knew that I needed to work, I had no idea I needed that sense of power to feel worthwhile in the eyes of not just myself but my spouse. It has thrown me off-kilter and into a bit of a panic-mode. I don't know why, it's probably all in my head. After all, I get videos or radio spots I'm in sent to me and he never asks to view them. Sure, he is proud of me and all, but I don't think my work particularly excites him. He doesn't need to feed the ego in the same way that us writer and actor whores clearly do.

Again, I know it is all temporary and in a few months we will have this (brake for sappiness ahead) beautiful little girl who will probably be named after some old Hollywood star and one that I cannot wait to meet. Just thinking about that moment brings real, not hormone-induced tears to my eyes. I can't wait for her to join us and be part of our little family so that we can all get to know her personality and become a different family because of her presence. In the meantime however, I seem to be struggling on daily basis with a total feeling of a loss of control in my life and not just my body. It's hard for me to even understand.

Is it ridiculous, even? Am I ridiculous?