Wrinkles

I have been a pretty intense control freak for the last 13 years. Prob my whole life actually, but the last 13 years freakish in a way that I am acutely aware of and in a way that I find personally distressing, because there is no way I can claim to be the one thing I want to be:

A fun and easy-going free spirit.

#easygoingfreespirit would have been the hashtag on all of my selfies if we had instagram in the 90’s (vs. #glorioussunset which is my current default).

#easygoingfreespirit might have been how others described me even. I sort of did whatever the heck I felt like, I was spontaneous, carefree, going where the wind blew me. I was also a chronic pothead, drank too much, and made some crap choices that were inconsiderate to others. I guess somewhere along the lines I decided all of these attributes must be intertwined.

When I found out I was pregnant with my oldest son, I was forced to confess to my midwife that he was conceived while on a bender that lasted about 22 days (it ended the day I peed on the stick and saw 2 lines, he turned out just fine, better than fine), and that I had not only been drinking  but smoking pot and possibly had taken mushrooms (couldn’t quite remember the timing). I know it sounds bad, but it wasn’t a dark time – I was just partying. My husbands music career was on the rapid rise, we spent all of our time in bars and clubs and going to places like  NYC to meet with fancy industry people in fancy places, and it was really fun and exciting and all came screeching to a halt because I got knocked up and got a grip.

When I say I got a grip, I really, really, mean it. Like an iron grip. I went into full on control mode which manifested in a multitude of ways.

~ Yes, obviously I want everyone to conform to my will, but I have always been like that and I don’t see that changing – and, um, don’t we all want that? ~? Right?

But there was more to it. There was the almost exploding if I was going to be late for anything, including my self-imposed deadline of being 15 min early for everything. There was my need to iron and lay out all of my clothes the night before work, including accessories and makeup – or forget sleeping. The socks having to match no matter what.

There was and is so much control to wield over my job itself. Somehow I got a really good one, in an extremely respectable industry, doing very worthwhile work, with very well-educated and very smart people. PRESSURE (My previous job had been at Second City where I hung out with very funny people all day, drank wine and pretty much just laughed my ass off). There is a lot to deliver on. I’ve got some serious strategy and scheduling and to do listing and work back planning and risk mitigation going on. For myself AND for my team.

My husband can likely give you a million other examples of how much fun I am these days … like how when company is coming I go psycho and shriek at everyone until the house is spotless, or another thing that he wishes were a little different was how I have rejected the weed and my immense irritation that he did not also reject it.  But I mean, what if we suddenly became serious drug addicts? Everyone knows pot is a gateway drug (I don’t actually believe this… but hmm, do I?).

Addiction runs in both of our families (someday there will be a whole other post about my fears for my children related to this and my recent panic attack after hearing my 9 year old call something trippy (and be right about it)). What if I succumb to some predestined biological impulse and wind up losing my job and abandoning my family and living on the streets? I have two other humans to keep alive and raise right and mold into good citizens who are also happy people.

I have been pretty tense for a decade or so as a result of all of my making sure our life is a success. I mean, total strangers have come up behind me and massaged my shoulders level of tense. I can’t watch full genres of tv and movies because it is too stressful. I am basically limited to rom coms and Friends re-runs.

My point is, motherhood changed me. I suddenly had a whole universe to hold together. I could not be care-free, I had to be care-full. Very, very careful.

When I pray there is always one thing I ask for help with. BALANCE. If I was going to have a mantra or set an intention for myself it would be BALANCE. If I was going to create one of those collages (are they called mood boards? Is that a thing?) of all you aspire to, it would just be pictures of people balancing on things, and scales in balance.

I am working on it. Hard.

I wouldn’t dream of missing a work deadline, but I have allowed myself to be just on time or even a few minutes late for other engagements – and I have managed to stay pretty chill about it. I already told you about the pot laced lollipops.

There is more.

I have stopped laying out my clothes at night. Now I just think about it for a minute or two and mentally decide…or sometimes I don’t! I scramble around in a ball of stress in the morning freaking out until I pull an outfit together. But guess what? Our whole world does not fall apart!

Just the other day  I almost didn’t iron my shirt in the morning. I took it out of my drawer, observed that it was a little crumpled, and put it on feeling smug and accomplished. Of course, I immediately ripped it off and ironed it, but still. A year ago I would not even have tried to do something like that.

And then I walked out of my bedroom and took a good look at my oldest son. We had this conversation:

Me: Honey, your shirt is really wrinkly. It’s bad. Let me iron it.

Him: Nah, I don’t care. It’s fine.

Me: It’s not fine, it looks horrible, and I care. The iron is still hot, it will only take a second.

Him: No. I don’t care.

Me: Ok. If you don’t care, I don’t care (a lie).

And there you have it. I let his wrinkles go. Progress! I managed to be #kindaeasygoing and #slightlymorebalanced