The Best Worst Conceiver

Hi my name is BumpBlogger and I am an overachiever. Yes, for as long as I can remember, I've had a debilitating addiction to being "the best."

I blame this on my mother, who would fuel my addiction by picking me up early when I would hysterically break down after losing musical chairs at birthday parties, and on Mr. Rogers, who told me that I make each day special just by being me.

The first person who ever told me that my addiction to being the best was a problem was my sister, Fashionplate Fiona. "Umm... stop being Monica," she would snap when I would return home from college obsessing that my GPA was a 3.875 and not a 4.0 ... or years later, when I would throw my body on the floor in a heap of despair after my boss had the audacity to edit my copy ... or most recently, when I swore I had to - had to - give up step class because a woman in her 60s was better than me.

The Monica she was referring to was Monica Geller, of the Friends persuasion. An overachiever, Monica's desire to be the "winner" and the "best" completely defined her character. (See, for example, the above clip titled "The Best Bad Massage," my sister's favorite to tease me with. When Chandler tells Monica "You don't have to be the best at everything," and she exclaims "Oh my GOD! You don't know me AT ALL!", I tear up and think, "I hear ya, girlfriend.")

My sister, much more of a Rachel, never understood my motivation to live life like it was a perpetual contest. Calling me out on "being Monica" was her way of reminding me that being the best wasn't all that important if it made me look like a high-maintenance crybaby in the process.

When I recently confided in my sister about my so-far futile attempts to get pregnant - and my secret desire to have a baby before my best friend Said Friend Stacie - I braced myself for the inevitable "Monica" reference. I knew Fiona would chastise me for caring about something as petty as getting pregnant first, or for my constant obsessive thoughts about my barren future as an old, childless Auntie.

Instead, Fiona surprised me. She gave me a huge hug and whispered in my ear: "It's OK. You're the best worst conceiver I know."