Control

Control. It's a funny thing. I'm waylaid in bed, beset by a cold (bad congestion, mild fever, aching sinus, some leg aches), and Mark's taking care of me and Lilly. He's gotten me tea, toast, my breastpump, all the essentials in my life. He's dressed and fed Lilly. And I just can't let go and let him take over. It's control. He reassures me that he knows what he's doing, and I KNOW that he knows and is completely capable. He's done it before. He does it all the time. But I just can't seem to let it happen, well fully happen. I'm in and out of bed, with one excuse or another. I need to get some tissues. I need to get a banana. I need to get tea (Mark did get it for me). But I'm checking up on things. What's she wearing (grey penguin onesie, pink fleece pants, and yellow leopard prints Mary Jane socks). How much is she eating. Who's warming the bottle. I'm finding things that are wrong - even though nothing is. I wouldn't have put Lilly in all those color combinations, but Mark did manage to bring out the yellow in the penguin feet and beak. Mark, Lilly, and Aunt Sarah are going to get lunch, give me some time to rest and relax. We've made the bed. Brought in the computer. And I've checked out the Pay Per View movies. But I've also made the 1PM bottle - it's in the fridge, waiting for Lilly. Control, it's not easy to give up. But who said I had to let go completely?