At some point in the past, I distinctly remember being called a glass-half-full kind of person. You know, an optimist. A keep-on-the-sunny-side, it-will-all-work-out kind of gal. It is even possible that my name and the phrase "Happy-Go-Lucky" were uttered in the same sentence.
That was then.
Now, I’m all anxiety, all the time. I am not alone in this, I know. Slouching Mom was anxious the other day too. In fact, it occurs to me that it is highly possible that, for everyone but my mother, motherhood is designed to reduce one’s personality something resembling an unholy alliance between Eeyore and Woody Allen.
To wit: Remember I told you that Youngest was thrilled because at the draft for his Fantasy Football League he had lucked out and been randomly selected to get the NUMBER ONE draft pick? Naturally, he chose LaDainian Tomlinson. Upon his return from the meeting, he said to me blissfully, "This is going to be a great year."
Well that night, I dreamt LaDainian Tomlinson got injured and was out for the season.