Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Mommying

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”
--Elizabeth Stone
Who knew this would be so difficult? This parenting thing. My son appears to have his first little cold. It doesn't seem to be bothering him, so why does it bother me so much? Because, dear friends, I worry. It's my nature.
Wiggly has always been a little congested since the day he was born. Not that this is out of the norm, seeing as how he was floating around in fluid for nine months. Lately, it seems worse. He makes snarfling noises with his nose and I worry that he can't breath well enough. The pediatrician's advice? Use the nose sucker and saline drops. Is this working? Of course not. When I bring the bulb syringe near Wiggly's face, he begins to shriek like his brain is being sucked through his nasal cavity. I can't imagine that it feels great. A torture device in his opinion. I cried with him last night while we had to go through this procedure for the hundredth time. And if you were wondering, no I don't do well watching him get shots, either. I'll be a mess the first time he bumps his head or scrapes his knee.
This is a little thing to worry about. I worry about the bigger things as well. Too much. Will he grow up to be the best person he can be? Will I always be a good mother? Will we always have all of the things we need? Will he remember me when I pick him up from daycare? Is he being cared for in the way I expect? Will he resent my career and inability to stay home with him everyday? Will he love to read like we do? Will someone hurt him? Will he never question how much he is loved? Will the mortgage always get paid? How can I keep him safe when I can't be with him every minute of the day? Will Wiggly grow up?
Will I ever stop worrying?
I asked my mother recently if she ever stopped worrying about us and she said no. I think I have a better understand for the reasons why my parents have put up with the millions of things my brothers have done wrong. Ultimately, my parents love them. My brothers screw up, more frequently than they do the right thing, but my parents still want to see the best in them. They want the best for them. I hope I never lose faith in Wiggly. He's so perfect now, but I realize he will grow up and make mistakes. I will love him despite and for all of those mistakes. I just hope he doesn't walk the same path my brothers have--I value my sanity too much.
My mantra, for now, each day as I drop him off and go to work is: He's fine. He's well. I'll see him tonight. He knows he is loved.
It's all I can do.

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