Control

I am a person that genuinely enjoys being in control. I know some people that are so Rachel Green, laid back and fun, and I am so Monica Gellar with a label maker and color-coordinated closet. I love knowing what will happen next and how I’m going to deal with it. I love it so much that I rarely read an entire book without peaking at the last chapter to know how it will end.

Ever since the moment my third pregnancy test stick showed a blue line I’ve felt completely out of control. My body, which I had finally accepted and was happy with, was completely out of control. It grew and twisted and I pooped (and didn’t poop) and threw up and cried, and there was nothing I could do to control it. My mind was out of control. My entire life seemed out of control.

Today, I went for a walk with Lucy and Molly after lunch. I decided for the first time in a LONG time I’d try to use the stroller instead of carrying Lucy in the front carrier. The only other time I’ve attempted using the stroller by myself Molly kept running in front of it and stopping or crossing in front of it causing me to trip or insisting on walking in between the stroller and myself. So I wasn’t too excited about the prospect of doing it again. But I decided to take a chance, strapped Lucy in and grabbed Molly’s leash.

And for the first time in a LONG time, I was in control. All of the walks I’ve taken with Molly to perfect the Dog Whisperer walking technique had finally paid off. She walked right next to me, only stopping for the occasional chance to relieve herself on a perfectly fertilized lawn. Lucy sat in her stroller, cooing at her hands, those wonderful hands that she just discovered. When we got home, I put Lucy down for a nap and Molly decided to take one as well. And now, it’s so quiet. So peaceful. And I am the luckiest person I know.