Thing to Do No. 4: Have a Pity Party

Everyone hates a whiner, and I suspect my own whining is causing my family no small amount of annoyance, particularly the Colonel. Let me begin with saying that the Colonel is perhaps the most accommodating and capable individual I’ve ever known in my entire life. I am not joking when I say that I married him because he knows how to hang things on walls. He also cares about a lot of the things that I care about. Just the other night, we had a ten-minute conversation on which way the Ws should face on our monogrammed dinner napkins (out, we decided, with the bottom of the W pointed toward the corner of the placemat).

A reason I cannot give for marrying him, however, is his attitude toward food. The Colonel does not mind if he goes 17 hours without eating, and I am more like a foraging wild dog, constantly worrying over the quality, quantity, and timeliness of my next meal. I think about my breakfast when I go to bed at night, start thinking about lunch while the coffee is brewing, and plan dinner before afternoon soaps get started. In between meals, I have a carefully planned maze of snacks available to me wherever I might be. I hate people who say things like, “Oh, I just forgot to eat.” To me, that’s like saying, “Oh I forgot to breathe” or “I forgot to use lotion after getting out of the shower.” Who does that?

Since becoming bedridden, at about 4:00 everyday, I start worrying myself silly over what we’ll do for supper. My hands get a little sweaty, my stomach starts growling, and I have to find one of my emergency snacks. Finally, the Colonel comes home around 7 (he works every day from 6am to 7pm, can you believe that?), and my anxiety increases.

On top of this is the fact that I am starved for company and conversation by this point. During the times of day when I am not fretting my next meal, I work myself into a frenzy over my job. All I can think is that the business I’ve built up during the last four years is headed down the toilet, and no, I don’t feel better knowing that my precious clients and cases are in the hands of four men. I had at least six trials planned between now and my maternity leave, and that doesn’t even factor in the vast amount of trial preparation work I intended to accomplish in between trials.

When it comes to food and work, I like to be in charge. IN CHARGE. No, I don’t want you in my kitchen, and no, I definitely don’t want you mucking around in my cases. You may not do it the way I want it done. That knife doesn’t go there. It’s very humbling to sit around and ask your family and colleagues to do something that just days ago, you were perfectly capable of doing on your own. And it’s troubling to have to ask because I know they are all busy. And it’s humbling to realize I have to just keep my mouth shut about it also.

Here’s Molly, looking beautiful.