What...Me...Worry?

I'm one of those people who is always worried about something. This is a trait shared by all of the women in my family. We worry. We stress. We stew. If we can't find something tangible to worry about, like kids, or bills, or the leaky roof, we invent shit and worry about that.

What the...what the hell is that? Is that a lump? That feels like a lump. It wasn't there yesterday. Was it? No, I'm sure it wasn't. Maybe it's just a pimple. Or an ingrown hair. Or a cyst. Yes, that's it. A cyst makes perfect sense. But it doesn't hurt. They say cancer doesn't usually hurt. Oh my god I've got cancer. I knew this was going to happen. I should have taken Omega 3 like they said. I should have eaten more food with those...whaddya call 'em...antioxidants. Yes, that's it. Maybe it would help if I took some now. Surely it can't hurt. I'm going to the store right now to get Omega 3 and antioxidants. I need tampax and ketchup anyway. I better call the doctor before I leave though. If I call now, I might be able to get in first thing in the morning. The sooner we start chemo, the better. Wait...where did it go? It was here a minute ago, I'm sure of it. Maybe I'm not dying of cancer! I better not get my hopes up though. It could be some kind of strange disappearing cancer. I'm still calling the doctor. I could probably wait and see if it comes back though. I wonder what I'm going to make for dinner. I should pick up a Stouffers lasagne while I'm at the store. I'm far too ill to cook.

I am a chronic insomniac. Part of that is just due to the fact that my circadian rythyms are completely opposite that of normal people. I am a night owl by nature. But it is mostly because often, I just can't shut off my brain. I lie in bed and examine the issue du jour from every possible angle. I carefully dissect it. I lay the guts of the matter out in front me and then poke and prod them until A) I arrive at a solution, B) My body slips into unconsciousness in self defense.

One might think I would resort to sleep aids. Ambien, Lunesta, Sonata...one might think I would be popping those things like candy. And I'll admit, it's tempting. But alas, I cannot avail myself of these modern day wonderments. Why? Well, because the house might catch on fire.

I was never one of those people who could leave work and not worry about it until 9 am the next morning. I am not a cavalier or carefree kind of Mom. The adage "Everything will work out for the best" is my personal anethema.

My oldest child is well over 5 feet tall, and I still make him sit in the backseat. If I thought I could wrangle his ass into a safety seat, I would. I insist on bike helmets, athletic cups, and now that one of my kids is sporting $5,000 worth of orthodontia, I insist on a mouth gaurd as well. I slather them with sunscreen every. single. time. we go to the pool or any time they will be outside for an extended periods of time. I have prohibited football. Spare me the statistics. I know. I don't care. They aren't playing. Ever.

You get the point.

Aside from being a tad..ahem...overprotective, I'm also the kind of person who should not read about stuff like global warming, or watch movies about meteors the size of a cruise ship plummeting to the earth.

And yet I do. Because a worry wart's motto is "Forewarned is forearmed".

So...the thing that is freaking me the flock out right now is....

Pthalates.

Recently, while waiting for Pre-Pubescent One to have his braces tightened, I picked up a National Geographic magazine, which, one would think, is a perfectly innocuous little publication.

One would be wrong.

In this particular issue, was an article about all the chemicals that are common in our everyday lives, and how they are slowly destroying our bodies and our brains.

Now, I read all of it. Every word. But it contained far too much scary shit for me to process without lapsing into a full blown delirium of panic. So, as I normally do when faced with a plethora of really scary shit....I focused on but one aspect of the issue; one which seemed to offer the most significant potential for being really friggen dangerous. In other words, I picked the chemical that seemed the most likely to turn me into a walking biohazard, and devoted myself fully to worrying about it.

Pthalates. Pthalates are a class of chemicals that are used to make plastics pliable. At first, this doesn't really seem like a truly pervasive threat. But if you really start to think about it...Tupperware. Bottled Water. Ziploc bags. Saran Wrap. Laundry Baskets. Lunch boxes. Toothbrush bristles. Automobile dashboards. Coolers. Toy bins. Those cheap plastic tumblers that they sell at Wal-Mart 12 for a dollar and the matching cereal bowls with the straw built into the side.

Dear God. It's everywhere. I could maybe stop using tupperware and drinking bottled water. I could give up plastic cups and bowls. I could, realistically, replace most of the things in my home with those made only of natural materials.

But give up ZIPLOC bags?? The mind boggles.

I think, instead, I will simply stop reading National Geographic magazine. And Newsweek. Time. USA Today. Reader's Digest. Popular Science.

Perhaps periodicals are not a good choice of reading material for me. I should maybe stick to fiction.

Really, really fictional fiction.

I'm starting a twelve step program...Worriers Anonymous. Our motto will be

"Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy." ~Leo Buscaglia

or maybe...

"A hundredload of worry will not pay an ounce of debt."
~George Herbert

or perhaps...

"How much pain they have cost us, the evils which have never happened."
~Thomas Jefferson

Do you see what I'm doing here? I'm worrying over what would be the best motto for a fictional program.

I am hardcore baby.

Footnote: As Antique Mommy mentioned in my comments "great minds think alike". She posted an eerily similar post this morning, and it did my heart good to read it. She is an utterly enjoyable read any time, but I especially like it when she writes something that validates me.