It's official. I have it--WBS. I've always suspected it, but tried to rationalize it away. The symptoms have been there my whole life, but who wants to admit to having such a malady? I didn't want to be treated differently. Some have hinted I may have it and my husband has suffered from it for decades. Finally we have a diagnosis. I have Whiny Baby Syndrome.
It was confirmed on Monday while I was having lunch with a couple of friends. No, they didn't tell me I have it. They're much too nice for that. But you know you have Whiny Baby Syndrome when you find yourself getting defensive when pushed for an explanation or when the words coming out of your own mouth suddenly sound so stupid. You can be sure there is a problem when pointed questions punch you in the gut and really nice people give you a half-hearted "Mmm" while nodding their heads slowly, their facial expressions resembling people who are not buying the swampland in Florida or your story.
I was sure I had WBS when I heard my recent responses to the question. You know, THE question this time of year, "How's your summer going?" Some sob story came out of me about how my summer had just begun because my husband's production was finally over. One night was especially embarrassing when I told a couple that church "crap" (yes, I actually used that word--OUCH--see how bad I have it?) was biting into our summer. PLEASE! My life is not that bad. (Funny, you'd think I'd know this. One of my kids hears this about his own life nearly daily.) My life is very good, in fact. I have nothing to complain about. I must be a whiny baby.
"Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe" (Philippians 2:14-15).
OW, OW, OW!!! Forgive me if you have had to endure my complaining and thank you for your patience. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to clean up my star considerably and tend to the gaping hole in my head.