Name that Neurosis!

I think I may have finally figured out the *real* reason why I chose to be a philosophy major in college: I have this desire to conquer the entire world of thought, and I had already mastered the irrational, which left me with a gap in rationality that UCLA philosophy professors endeavored to fill. Okay, so maybe that reasoning is a stretch, but I really am quite good at irrationality. I have it down pat. Rationality? *sigh* Not so much.

I find the rather incredible mix of emotions plus hormones in pregnancy polishes my already refined irrationality until it fairly shines. Tonight I frantically looked up everything I could find online and in my Mayo Clinic pregnancy book about my favorite pet fear terrible pregnancy outcome of the moment. I seem to be a very quick study when it comes to seeing something that could happen, discovering that I have one rather weak risk factor somewhere in my medical history, and then deciding that my whole being must be consumed by fear and worry that the I will be the 1-2% exception to the healthy pregnancy rule. I don't think this is entirely on the level of "normal" anxiety. I really do think I am exceptional in my ability to embrace the improbable.

In all seriousness, with all of the joys and expectations that this pregnancy has brought, it has also brought new opportunities to expect, or at the very least seriously fear, the worst.

Poor Daniel, caused to sit on the toilet and listen while I cried and worried aloud in the shower, offered some really sage advice: "Oh love, you need to let that go." I stopped scrubbing long enough to pull back the shower curtain and reply, "You know what you are asking me to do?" The implication, of course, was that he would get further asking fish to fly. At least there's one species of fish that does achieve a fair approximation of aviation. He also offered some more advice -- you know, realistic alternatives to crippling worry -- that was quite practical and helpful, but I don't want to recount it here, because it will only make my irrationality more plain, and I still have sense enough that I prefer to preserve a shred of dignity.

In a moment of dazzling lucidity, I told Daniel that my fears may actually be rational - I just don't know yet whether they are or not (even if the odds of my fears being grounded are slim). When the worst happens, it will prove my fears rational. Hmmph. He replied that I was talking nonsense (in so many words) and countered that no, the feared outcome coming to pass would simply mean that my still quite IR-rational fears would be realized, not rational.

Darn.

This is part of why I married him. He won't let me talk myself into irrationality without at least acknowledging it for what it is. I just happen to find it annoying. For those keeping score: Daniel 7, Nikki 2.

I also find it annoying that I suspect that 80% of tonight's outburst was a particular moment of hormonal surge or pregnancy wackiness. I had passed a very fun day with a pregnant girlfriend (spent entirely in hours of conversation in our living room), and then I had dissolved into an anxious puddle almost as soon as she left. There was no discernible reason for this particular mood swing... well, no reason that someone like Daniel would accept. The other 20%... that's the part I am hard-pressed to change, because the day I stop worrying, you should probably order a casket.

The crisis passed, we watched the Hurricanes kill the Phoenix Coyotes 7-2 (restoring my faith in the gods of hockey) and I headed upstairs with the conviction that the baby and I might both live to see another day after all. (If we were very lucky!)

All I can say, right about now, is thank God for a very patient, gracious husband. That, and thank God that He is a patient, gracious God who is actually in control of all of the circumstances -- even if I should find it distressing that this fact of God's control makes my worry amount to weakness, if not a full-on a lack of faith. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Right? Well then, if my shred of remaining rationality demands evidence, perhaps the part of me that is so suggestible as to believe that if there is a 1-2% chance that something bad will happen to someone, that someone will be me, then it shouldn't be so hard to come up with a bit of faith, right? Certainly I don't hope for the worst, and I could sure use some assurance, and I dare say that there's more evidence for God's hand in my life than for many of my fears.

A little faith. I think I will work on that next... as soon as I finish obsessing on irrationalities. After all, it's the only rational thing to do.