Worry

I'll never forget the day I found out I was expecting Hartley. I remember being overjoyed and simultaneously worried that things wouldn't work out. I can honestly say this bizarre mixed emotion lasted my entire pregnancy. I read all sorts of things online that I shouldn't have. 

And I thought when she got here safely, surely I'd calm down. She'd let out a cry, we'd count ten fingers and ten toes, and I could at least let out a little sigh of relief. 

Then she got here, she let out a cry and we counted ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes but the worrying did not magically end. 

I remember she would cry for hours at a time. I worried what was wrong and if I was ill equipped to be a mother. Eventually we resolved these horrible bouts of pain crying upon the discovery of the most expensive formula known to man. For a moment, I stressed about the money spent on said formula but soon that was replaced by the worry I felt whenever I took her in public and she would scream endlessly because she hated unfamiliar places and faces. I wondered if I'd ever be able to leave my house again without hearing endless wailing from this tiny human. 

She eventually outgrew that, and I worried every time she got sick. I worried every time she met a milestone a day later than when the Internet deemed appropriate. I worried every time she face planted and blood would gush out of her mouth. A word to the mother's of immobile babies, when they face-plant walking on cement or they flip their pottery barn chair - they will fall and bite their tongue or lip and you will not even understand how so much blood can exit such a small wound.

Then I got pregnant, I worried about how I would juggle two very young children. I worried that I was robbing Hartley of her babyhood. I worried I wouldn't love Patrick as much as I loved Hartley. I worried Hartley would feel neglected while I tended to him and vice versa. I worried I wouldn't show them love equally. I worried I'd never figure out how to juggle two under two in public.

I have worried about everything - from what I've fed my kids to if they know they I love them. I've worried if they think less of me when I cry in front of them or have a nervous breakdown and yell.

And lately, I worry that they'll be different than their peers and get made fun of. I worry that any of their shortcomings, no matter how small, are my fault. I wonder if the little things I worry about now will be giant things down the road. And yet I worry that all this worrying will be a waste of this precious time we have together. 

This is motherhood. It is taking every ounce of your energy, every far reaching space of your brain, every fiber of your being and investing it whole-heartedly in to another person. It is knowing that there is nothing you care about more in this world than your children and their happiness. And it is the most fucking exhausting thing on the planet. 

Lately I honestly feel like I'm burnt out. I'd just rather have a day off from thinking and worrying and taking care of everyone. 

But somehow Hartley has learned to give me these magical hugs with her arms around my neck, face nuzzled right up to me. And she doesn't pull away. Since she can't say, "I love you", this is her version. It reminds me why I do this and why I worry. 

I love her and Patrick more than anything else in this world. I've literally googled to find the day when you stop worrying about your kids but I'm guessing it just a part of the lifelong role of motherhood. 

To my babies - I'll worry about you now and forever because that is exactly how long I will love you.