Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Big Girl Pants

Today I had to tell myself to put my big girl pants on.
(Not size wise, grown up wise.)

It's embarrassing, but I will tell you why.

I do not like driving. At all.
When I was seventeen, I totaled a car.
When I was nineteen, I ran into a motorcycle.
The same week, I had already ran into a pole.
Then when I got home, I hit a garage wall or something like it.

So, I'm not the biggest fan and I weasel myself out of driving all the time.
Meaning, Mr. C. didn't see me drive until we'd been married half a year.
Embarrassing, right?

Anyway, today Mr. C. and I were running errands and I had to drop him off at work.
When I drove home, I remembered that, except for my mostly-minor accidents I used to love to drive.
And I had never been scared to drive- even when I had my learner's permit.
BUT I've gotten a little paranoid the last year of so (thanks, pregnancy) and have been terrified of it.

I told myself it was the drivers in Utah.
(They are terrible.)
I told myself it was easier for Andrew to always drive.
(Not true.)

Then I remembered that I am the same person who drove their car from Missouri to Utah in one day without any thought.
I also remembered that I am the same person who, at nineteen, moved into a city I knew no one in and moved into a downtown apartment with a stranger.
And I remembered that I used to go on blind dates with strangers.
And that I used to hang out with people I had made friends with at work- as in they were customers I had met in passing.
Then I remembered I was the same person who took the plunge weeks after knowing someone and got, um, married.

That doesn't exactly match my definition of paranoia.

So I thought, "What? When did I become so paranoid?
This has got to stop."

And that, my friends, is when I thought, "Time to put on my big girl pants."
Consider them on.