Worrying comes naturally for me, as I come from a long line of worryers. OK, a line of 2 before me, but it could go back farther than that. My grandmother worried all the time. I loved to go spend the night with her at her apartment, because we played card games , watched soap operas, recited nursery rhymes and Bible verses, and she let me stay up late and drink coffee in the morning (OK, mostly milk and sugar with a little coffee thrown in, but it WAS coffee). However, I really didn't like it when she came to babysit at our house. We couldn't do much of anything when she was there. She didn't want us to ride our bikes or go outside at all . Granted, she had osteoporosis, although we didn't know what it was called at the time, and couldn't have come running to help us if anything had happened, but my mother certainly wasn't outside with us all the time. Now this was over 30 years ago when tales of kids getting snatched or molested by strangers were more anecdotal than today, and it made no sense to us that we couldn't go play. She worried about plenty of other things over the years, particularly my sister and me. At some point someone who worked at her nursing home said he'd heard that one of us had been arrested or gotten into trouble over drugs. Now, if you knew us, especially me, you'd know this was a pretty hilarious accusation. And you'd think my grandmother, knowing us, and again, especially me, would've leapt to our defense. But the worryer in her let that little doubt in, I guess.
I didn't tell Mama' about G having had a vasectomy before we met, nor did I tell her when he had it reversed. A few years after we married, she started saying, "well, I guess you're not going to have children, or you would have by now." To her credit, she didn't really ask if we were trying, but she did make various comments. One time I'd finally had enough, so I told her that G'd had a vasectomy, but had had it reversed, so we might or might not have kids--but it wasn't looking good. She pretty much hit the mute button on that subject at that point. I told my parents I'd told her, and Dad (the other worryer) freaked out. I didn't see the big deal--she knew G had been married before. I guess Dad and Mom were afraid they'd have to discuss it with her a lot. When we started doing IVF the first time, Mom and Dad told Mama'. This time, I freaked. I really wasn't planning on discussing it with her until I was pregnant. At one visit she and I were talking about the IVF a little, and she said, "what if it's black"? I thought I must have misheard her and said "What?!?" She said, "what if it's black?" I never found my grandmother to be racist, at least not overtly so, although there were some tendencies, growing up when and where she did. And why this would've been her main concern, I don't know. Why not "what if it has 3 heads?", or "what if it's shaped like a petri dish?" It was funny and sad all at the same time. I explained, gently, that it would be G's baby, or we wouldn't have been doing it. She had taken my prior explanation about the slight chance of our getting pregnant on our own to mean NO chance. I told her about the low count, etc. She said well, she just didn't understand it all. I told her I didn't, either. After all, she was 92, and although I've gone through the process twice, and know that the people who've been successful have children who are VERY REAL, the whole thing does still smack a little of science fiction. I just found what she chose to worry about pretty odd that time. (Yes, I know, the appropriate answer to her question would have probably been, "What if it is?" It just didn't really seem necessary. And the answer is, she would've loved it, just as much as her other great-granddaughter and great-grandson. She really would have.)
My dad worries about everything, too. Every time he and Mom go on vacation, he reminds me where he's put their will. If I go to their home which is 30 miles away and highway all the way with no scary twists or turns -- very easy drive, I'm always expected to call and let them know I got there if G's not home. It makes my sister angry to have to do it when her husband is out of town, but I figure it's easier just to make him happy. G doesn't like going out to eat with Dad (and it's really not that much fun), because the whole drive to a restaurant, he's worried about finding a parking place. Then about getting in and getting a table. Then something else. He did come by it honestly.
I used to worry a lot. When I was around 10, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and lie awake for a long time, it seemed like hours, and worry about tornadoes, fires, robbers, earthquakes, you name it, it kept me up. I'd look out the window and hope the sun was about to come up. I didn't tell Mom and Dad until years later. I don't know what they would've done, but I'm sure they would've at least tried to reassure me. I've had other, more tangible worries over the years, and now they're usually money-related, but even there, I'm letting more of it go. Worrying isn't going to change it, make it better or get me a better salary or job. Or turn my gray hairs back to reddishy, auburny, brown. And things usually work out. Last week, I was worried at work. We had a large group of volunteers coming to do some work initially planned for outside. It became apparent as the week wore on that the weather was not going to allow them to paint the large storage shed or plant petunias, as we'd hoped. The alternative was to paint an office. We had 28-30 volunteers to paint AN OFFICE. My boss wasn't going to be here and I was feeling ill about the whole thing. I told her about my concern, and she told me they were also to paint another office and a short hallway. I felt better, but still, 2 offices and a hall for all those people? The company (let's call it Brown) is big on corporate giving and volunteerism. Some of their grants are tied to volunteer hours. I was just concerned that if they got here and didn't have enough to do, they'd never come back. NEVER. Well, of course, I didn't really need to worry. First of all, they only brought 19 people, which was still a fabulous number. One group was able to do a bit of weeding before the rain really kicked in. We had the above areas for them to paint, plus an empty client room in our assisted living area. And one of the aforementioned offices was actually 2 fairly large rooms, so the group had plenty to do. I fumed and worried for nothing. I hope this is not a trait my future children pick up from me or Dad. Geez, now I'm worried again.
