In Which My Neuroses Are Given Free Rein

I think I spend too much time worrying about things that don't need worrying about.  For example, while I was pregnant, I had a dream that M was born with 6 toes. 

Which would be worrying.  Who wants their daughter to be like Anne Boleyn?*

So I worried.  But the worry was not actually that she would have six toes - I mean, they either remove the extra digits if they're a problem, or they don't if they're not and you have a quick and easy fall-back plan when you forget to bring something for show and tell.  What I worried was that M would be unable to really enjoy the "This Little Piggy" rhyme, since she would have a piggy that was not included in the festivities.

This would, I was sure, be completely scarring.  (Though presumably not as scarring as actually having your toes cut off.  But I digress.)

I eventually coped with the problem by writing an extra line.  My modified version read "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home.  This little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none.  This little piggy went wee wee wee wee all the way home.  And this little piggy is extraneous to the narrative."**

And then I found another worry.  We decided to call her Margaret, and I had in my head a dark-haired, sober little person who disapproved of my frivolity.  (Don't ask; I can't explain it.  Margaret, though I like the name a lot, seems like a sober sort of name).  And then when she was born, her hair was darkish (well, by my standards anyway).  It's lightened enough, and she giggles enough that I really don't worry about this anymore, but when she looks at me like this

I feel that my antics are being observed and judged.

On the other hand, when she looks like this

I feel that if she is judging me for my frivolity, she's a hypocrite.  So that makes me feel a bit better.

*Who had six fingers on her hands, but the principle is the same.

**I also think that this rhyme is a moral tale, and that there are only really two piggies - one who goes to market, has roast beef, and runs home screaming (whether in joy or terror is up to the teller), and another who stays home and has no roast beef.  The moral is determined by whether one thinks that a pig eating roast beef is good or not.