In my 32 1/2 years of meandering through this world, sharing my awesomeness, I have learned many lessons. Don't marry someone who proposes to you during COPS. Don't call someone bigger and drunker than you are a whore. Don't throw away your clothes in a mad frenzy while you're pregnant because they will, someday, fit again. Or at least, they would have fit, if you hadn't donated them all to Goodwill, and so now you're left without that fabulous little black Audrey Hepburn dress that you used to look smokin' hot in while wearing. You get the idea.
One idea that I never really seemed to latch onto that well is that idea that I cannot be in control all the time. That has manifested itself occasionally in the past (like when my uterus decided to implant that fertilized egg against my will), but I always seem to forget it, conveniently, and continue to hold onto any semblance of control with a death grip. I hate riding in the car while (most) other people drive, despite the fact that I'm a terrible, nearly incompetent driver. I hate letting the kids pick out their own clothes, even though I know it will save me a huge headache and regardless of who chooses the clothes, Belly is going to come through in sparkle tights and a tiara anyway. I hate when someone else puts food on my plate because I have a specific order I like to follow when I arrange food (meat and starches opposite one another on the plate, vegetables in between and opposite other vegetables) and it freaks me out if it's not in that specific order.
I am a girl in control. I control my diabetes. I control my weight. I control my cravings, free time, Passion Tea addiction, and schedule. I'm a Type A, full-on, pain in the ass.
But now. Now that I'm two days shy of the One Year Anniversary, it's starting to sink in that maybe I can't control everything. Losing Dad was a total loss of control. My life this past year has been an exercise in having very little control--of my appetite (mostly none), of my sleep (very little), and of my emotions (which tend to be completely unpredictable). Suddenly, "me" isn't always me anymore, and I haven't yet figured out how to cope with that.
Everyone says that some good comes out of everything bad. I keep looking around for the good, but so far, I've been too blinded by grief to find it. I'm starting to hope that maybe this whole control thing will end up being some of it. Maybe I'll learn that it's okay to let whatever happen, happen, because that's the way the world works. It's going to anyway. I can't control everything. Let's just hope I can accept that.