The Worry

Parenting. The toughest job you'll ever love. The army ripped off parents with that one. Or was it the Peace Corps? I can't remember. I think if someone had told me how hard being a parent was going to be - I'd have run to the nearest convent and locked myself in.

It isn't changing diapers. It isn't saving for their college. It isn't even making sure they eat broccoli and cauliflower. It is the worry. And nothing brings that out like having a sick little kid. I get so stressed out when S. is sick. I cannot stand it. It ruins my whole day. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Am I making the right choice? Should I keep her home from school? Should I take her to the doctor? Is she sleeping well? Is she breathing? Did her blankets fall off? Is she in her room freezing her toes off? It is the worst.

You see, this little person has wormed her way into my heart in the worst way. She's often the reason I even get out of bed in the morning. She makes me think. She makes me feel. Sometimes she makes me cry. She's scared the hell out of me on more than one occasion. She makes me lay awake in the dead of night wondering if I have what it takes to do this job. I'm not even close to being a good parent, but she makes me want to do better. People at work have asked me if I plan on going back to school to finish my degree and become a teacher ( really flattering) and I simply tell them that I have this one chance with my child and I'm going to wait until she's a little older before I go back. While the desire to be a teacher is now something that is nagging me, the desire to provide S. with as much of a mom as I can is like someone screaming in my ear. If I mess up the job of being her mom, I'm gonna have a lot to answer for - at least that's how I feel. Weirdly, most mom's seem to agree. They don't look at me like I've sprouted an extra arm when I explain my decisions. Thank heavens. Peer pressure has always been a downfall for me.

I hope that she knows how much I love her. How I can sometimes just look at her when she doesn't know I am. Fascinating. She will have no idea that I'm laying wide awake, my stomach churning, wondering if I'm messing her up just because I am her mom. She will never know how important she is to me. I can't convey that to her. She may learn it someday - when she becomes a mother herself. She has no idea how I love to listen to her read, or tell me a story she's made up. There is no way to express how I feel when she presents me with a drawing she's made. Or how she makes me laugh with a funny eight-year-old theory on life's mysteries. Here's hoping she will have some idea.