At the tender age of 25, I gave birth to my first child. I was the first one to get married, the first one to buy a house, and the first to have a child. I had no girlfriends to walk me through the trenches of motherhood.
"Your life is going to change." A childless friend of mine explained at my baby shower.
Three kids later, I am wading through the trenches trying to stay afloat balancing all of the duties associated with motherhood. This. I can handle. Except for, MY trenches are filled with worries. Deep with thoughts. I can't seem to relax and enjoy the trenches for what they are. Instead. I. Worry. ALL THE TIME.
Two weeks ago, our sweet baby girl, slept an entire 12 hours straight through. Most normal parents would rejoice. I franctically ran to her room picking out her obtiuary picture in my mind. I kid you not. Cause, surely she suffocated last night. She was dead for sure, so I threw open her nursery door and slammed it against the wall. And. I woke her up.
On Sunday, my gracious husband took all three kids to the Natural History Museum. I was told to take a bath, shave my legs, and catch up with Oprah. I was completely relaxed the first hour. During the second hour I became a little more un-relaxed. During the third hour I became anxious, Oprah is good like that. I was alone for three and a half hours before I started calling. No answer. NO answer!? NO ANSWER!!??!!! OH, my gosh... NO ANSWER!!!! Surely, my husband lost control of my minivan and is stuck in an icy ditch. In one selfish afternoon, I have lost my entire family. Oh my gosh. They are all dead. I feel the lump building in my throat. I have to clear my voice to take his phone call fifteen minutes later. Note to self: no cell phone reception in the planterium.
Yesterday I prepared lunch for the kids and left them alone while I put Fifi down for a nap. I was enjoying my one on one with her, caressing her baby chubs, absorbing the smell of her delicious baby neck, and loosing myself in her baby blue eyes. "AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" I hear screaming. Terrible, horrible, incredible screams coming from the kitchen. Followed by silence. I toss the baby in the crib and run downstairs skipping every other step, yelling "BREATH! LOLA. BREATH." She has holding breath syndrome and frequently looses consciousness. I am picturing a lifeless child, like I have held so many times before. I reach the kitchen and come face to face with this....
"I got ketchup on my pillow! AHHHH!!!!" Lola sobs. I exhale.
And so my friends. My trenches are deeply filled with worry. For no reason. I am hoping that the worries lessen as my children grow older or hoping that amongst one of you is a licensed doctor. I need a chill pill. The biggest baddest chill pill on the market. Legal or not, I must have it.
I just can't seem to fully relax as a mother. Will I ever be the same?