A man gazing on the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.

We travelled to the other side of maC yesterday to oogle and aargle and coo at a two month old baby boy.  I think I was supposed to feel something.  Maybe I was supposed to have feelings of a broody nature?  Perhaps some maternal instinct was meant to kick in and make me want to take The Blokey home for an immediate baby-making ravishing? 

[i must, i must, i must carry on the human race]

The MiL and The Aunt of The Blokey made those garbled vocal noises that only women who have recently become grandmothers, and those who want to be grandmothers, are able to make. 

Cluck-cluck.  So, when are you two going to have a baby?  Is this making you want a baby Elizabeth?  Awww, isn’t he gorgeous Elizabeth.  Do you want to hold him Elizabeth?  Look at his little toes!  Cluck-cluck.

I know that some great big blazing fire should have burned within me immediately upon seeing such an adorable [you can tell he’s a R********, doesn’t he look like his great-grandad!] baby, but it didn’t.  It was more of a little spark that feebly attempted to ignite and kept being doused by my worrisome mind.

Because don’t get me wrong, or read me wrong, or try to second guess how I feel about having a baby.  I desperately want to be a mummy.  I have always wanted to be a mummy, to the extent that I know that if I never become a mummy I will spend my life pained and unhappy.  But I am a worrisome creature and I have a negative mind that makes me think too much and thinking too much is problematic.

So, if I get pregnant it means that for nine months I have to carry something inside my belly and that freaks me out.  And what if there are complications?  When it kicks it’ll make me feel sick, I know it will.  And more to the point I’ll probably suffer from terrible morning-sickness throughout the entire pregnancy because when I suffer I really suffer.  And then there’s the actual birth.  Look how tiny he is Elizabeth!  No, he’s f.ucking huge!  How on earth does he come out!  Once a baby is on the scene there are then the sleepless nights and the worry of never letting him/her out of my sight because I worry so much anyway and I’m just going to worry the entire time.  Once I have a baby I will never be able to not-worry ever again.  And that scares me.  And what if I don’t take to being a mummy?  What if being a mummy causes my depression to rear its ugly head worse than ever before? 

And what if I can’t get pregnant? 

I want a baby so much and the more I want a baby the less I want one … does that even make sense?

So, I drank lots of vodka to show that there won’t be a baby in the coming months.  And then wondered if there’s a pill to stop people worrying so much.

Perhaps I should then have wished upon the shooting stars that I was able to see last night.  The last time I saw a shooting star was way back when myself and The Blokey first met and I wished for something, and the wish came true, eventually.  I saw six shooting stars last night – could I have had six wishes? I can’t think of six things I could have wished for though.  Hmmm. 

The sixth shooting star was the most impressive.  I was gazing out of my bedroom window after midnight, partly spying on the neighbours and partly keeping my eyes peeled for flashes of brightness that were going so fast they couldn’t be planes, and it went whizzing across the sky.

Wow, I whispered.  I felt very child-like at that moment.  I was very innocent and very awe’d and felt very small.  And it was a nice feeling, one which I don’t feel enough and would very much like to feel again …

please God stop me worrying so much and let me just go with the flow xxx Elsabeth

Consciousness: that annoying time between naps.

My middle name is Worrywart.  Seriously.  Or it may as well be. 

I worry about anything and everything.  I always have done.  What you consider to be a minor triviality I consider to be a major life-threatening situation.  I can barely use a phone, overtake a lorry, speak to a stranger, sit on a bus, hear an odd noise, watch my cat disappear to her secret place, walk past a small crowd [even when it’s people I know very well, although amazingly I can cope with a crowd of teenagers], enter an unknown place, send a text message, open my front door, disagree with someone [even a good friend], smell a smell, stand in a queue, sit in the cinema, order at a bar, make small talk with the hairdresser, smile at a parent, watch the news, laugh at a joke [I don’t ‘get’ jokes], nod a greeting upon seeing the neighbours, open the post, walk along the pavement, and many other ordinary everyday things, without worrying. 

I live with it, like some disease.  I’ve developed coping strategies: when sitting on the bus I hide behind my iPod and laugh at folk in my head; I’ll check through the window before I toddle outside and if need be I’ll wait till the ‘danger’ is less and there are barely any folk around; I won’t open my front door if I’m not expecting anyone, nor answer the phone unless I recognise the number [and even then I’ll only answer if I want to]. If I didn’t develop strategies I’d be confined to never leaving the house, and that in itself would probably be worse [when I think something is wrong at home (a leaky toilet, for example) the best thing I can do is go out because if I can’t see it or hear it then it isn’t happening]. 

Sometimes I can’t control things though [usually my emotions, rather than anything tangible] and that’s when I’ll start to panic.  I’ve never suffered a panic attack, at least, not of the variety that you read about.  My worry is manifested in the tight constrictive feeling living in my chest, in the way I play with/bite the skin around my thumb nails, an uncontrollable urge to giggle … this is the way I live – anxious, bewildered, on-edge all the time.  And when I panic the way I am is multiplied by zillions. 

And it makes me want to cry. 

Occasionally I’ll start to panic for no discernable reason.  There’s no rhyme or reason behind it, it just happens.  Sometimes it only lasts for a matter of minutes and sometimes it lasts for days.  Trying not to cry on a crowded bus is silly, but trying not to cry in front of your blokey is just ridiculous – but when you worry that you’re a disappointment [he helped get me off the anti-depressants] and that feeling is so severe it makes you feel physically sick … pffft.

And then, to really mess with my head, I get insomnia again [of the i can fall asleep easy enough but i’ll wake up at very early o’clock and not be able to go back into the land of slumber variety], after a break of a few months.  Not sleeping makes me worry.  Not sleeping after trying for an hour makes me panic.  Getting up at four in the morning to watch the tellybox and make strawberry jelly is a stupid thing to do, but at least it helps quieten the panicky feelings.  Not sleeping last night makes me worry that I won’t sleep tonight and so now I won’t sleep tonight. 

Ah, ya bugger.

So, this post was brought to you by a very panicky katiefinger, who is worrying about everything and who currently has no control over her feelings and would like very muchly to just curl up into a ball and forget about the world.  I can’t even blame it on PMS.  Humpf.  Writing about it is my coping strategy.  Therefore, feel free to ignore this post.  Thank you.

please God bless me and let me sleep tonight, and bless the blokey’s toothache xxx Elsabeth