A Mommy Story

(Sorry if this seems a little disjointed. It was written with a 19 month old hanging off my neck most of the time.)

It all started with this in January 2004:

Oh wow, am I really pregnant? Will it stick? Will I miscarry? Worry, worry, worry.

And then she grew, and we got to see the proof of her existence beyond two lines.

Is the baby normal? Are there any problems? Are you sure we can tell people it’s a girl? Worry, worry, worry.

And then we reached the end of the pregnancy, and thoughts shifted slightly.

Why is she still breech? Is something wrong? Are we really ready to be parents? Worry, worry, worry.

She was born via c-section (still breech), and she was beautiful and perfect. Well, perfect except for her stubborn personality.

Why won’t she nurse? What am I doing wrong? Does she not like me? Worry, worry, worry.

But the worst was over, right? From this point on, I could count those 10 fingers and 10 toes each night, and we found a combination of solutions to feed her, so there was no reason to worry. Yeah, right. How naive I was.

That was just the practice worry. It served as the warm-up for the real thing that takes hold when you finally have your child in your arms. Because now the dangers are 100-fold and there are a million signs that could point to developmental problems.

Now everything could lead to certain death, or at least put her behind her peers in some small developmental milestone. Is TV evil or OK? Totally organic foods or not? When she wasn’t sitting up at six months old, I wondered what the problem was. Did I not provide enough tummy time to strengthen her muscles? (Truth is, she had a monster head to balance on that tiny neck.)

I think worrying is the natural state of motherhood. It is simply our nature to constantly worry about our offspring, constantly driving ourselves crazy second guessing our decisions and spending hours to make a simple decision on how much clothing is too much for a 40 degree day, but not so little as to freeze our child.

No one warned me about the level of worry I would be taking on by becoming a mother. Now that there is no way out (and for the record I wouldn’t want a way out even if it was offered), I can see down the path to the future, and I see only more worry ahead of me.

Oh sure, some worries will ease with time. Since she became a toddler, I’ve finally stopped worrying that Cordy will stop breathing in the middle of the night. When she’s older I’m sure I will worry less about her falling down the stairs.

But for every worry that eases, another will appear in the night to take its place. Oh sure, I won’t worry that she’ll fall down the stairs, but instead I’ll worry about her falling off of the tall climbing equipment on the playground. When she’s secure riding her bike, I will worry less until she wants to get her driver’s permit.

I’m sure some people think they don’t worry about their children much. I even feel that way sometimes. But I think the reality is that we’ve internalized that worry so well that we don’t even notice it at times. When Cordy was sick this weekend, the worry I had was not obvious until I later realized just how tense and sore my shoulders were. I was worried about her, but it only showed itself in the tension in my muscles.

I probably know why we exert so much mental effort worrying about our children. Millions of years ago, our natural state of worrying protected our young from predators and other dangers. All that worry developed into the sharp maternal instincts we have today. We worry, but with that worry we can go from calm to crisis mode in 0.67 seconds flat.

Once, we were at a mall play area when Cordy was only crawling and Cordy was attacked by an older kid. I had seen him taking an interest in her, and the worry set in right away. I knew he was too old to play with her, I knew he didn’t seem like a nice kid. When he kicked her and scratched her, suddenly that worry was confirmed and the mommy instinct took over. My rational side resisted the urge to wring the kid’s neck, but I felt that urge as I quickly flung myself between them. And even though I didn’t pummel the kid, much like a mama gorilla, I scooped up my child and moved her away from this source of danger.

When will the worrying end? Seeing that my mom still worries about me, I think the answer is it never will. When you have a child, a small piece of your heart is in that child, and that missing piece creates an invisible link between us. And with that link comes worry.

So when you see me lost in thought, just know I’m probably worrying about what crisis I will need to protect Cordelia from next. Because that’s what I do.