It is damn hard to be a parent. And, my apologies to all the amazing fathers out there, it’s exponentially harder to be a mother. From the beginning you give up your body and life as you know it to grow and nurture and create fingers and toes and brains and everything that makes the magnificent creature that will look up at you in wonder and amazement until they’re like 10 and you become super lame.
You lay awake at night listening to the baby breathe, making sure you can hear those little puffs of air that reassure you that all is well. And then on the nights when the baby sleeps longer than you and you wake up and sprint down the hallway to make sure they’re still breathing, you heave a deep sigh of relief. For me, since Izzy, I have set little benchmarks for JT, to celebrate that he’s still alive. When he was born, and we learned that his blood was working in perfect order, I felt relieved, and then I worried about SIDS. Babies die unexpectedly for no discernible reason all the time. So I set the next benchmark at 6 months. Most SIDS deaths seem to happen to the younger babies, so I felt 6 months would be a good safe mark. JT hit 6 months and he was perfect, refusing to roll over, but perfect. So now with an almost 9 month old, 8 year old and 10 year old I’m feeling pretty confident about getting to see my 3 living children grow up and get married and become parents, and live their dreams. Or, rather, I should be feeling confident and not still worrying.
However, I’ve seen the St. Jude commercials. Kids get cancer and die too often. I watch the news. An 8 year old died on Monday with his family at his side, doing something super cool and fun. I watched a mother break down sobbing because her adult daughter died on Monday. She was about to turn 30. So when will I feel safe? When will I know that my children will be okay? Never.
I look at their beautiful smiles and watch them play and laugh and I think about the horrible void they would leave behind and my fear is crippling. Maybe if I hadn’t lost Izzy, if I didn’t know that it was really possible I wouldn’t be so aware, so afraid. I think that you don’t really deep down know that it really happens, until it happens in your life. To someone you know, to someone you love. You hear about it, read about it, but you’re insulated, you’re protected, until it happens to you and then it’s real. A reality that you can’t escape from. Ever.
It’s hard to let them leave my sight. It’s hard to let them do things that could hurt them. Abbey is working on her balance beam routine and she’s mastered her cartwheel and round off. I know the next thing is her handspring. When I say that, I think of severed back bones and paralysis. Maddy is an avid softball player and this year, will be learning to pitch. That makes me think of death by line drive to the face. There are a million ways that something horrible and unspeakable could happen to my children. I try to focus and concentrate on the million ways that they can grow up and have wonderful lives and make me smile and laugh. But damn it’s really hard sometimes.
You lay awake at night listening to the baby breathe, making sure you can hear those little puffs of air that reassure you that all is well. And then on the nights when the baby sleeps longer than you and you wake up and sprint down the hallway to make sure they’re still breathing, you heave a deep sigh of relief. For me, since Izzy, I have set little benchmarks for JT, to celebrate that he’s still alive. When he was born, and we learned that his blood was working in perfect order, I felt relieved, and then I worried about SIDS. Babies die unexpectedly for no discernible reason all the time. So I set the next benchmark at 6 months. Most SIDS deaths seem to happen to the younger babies, so I felt 6 months would be a good safe mark. JT hit 6 months and he was perfect, refusing to roll over, but perfect. So now with an almost 9 month old, 8 year old and 10 year old I’m feeling pretty confident about getting to see my 3 living children grow up and get married and become parents, and live their dreams. Or, rather, I should be feeling confident and not still worrying.
However, I’ve seen the St. Jude commercials. Kids get cancer and die too often. I watch the news. An 8 year old died on Monday with his family at his side, doing something super cool and fun. I watched a mother break down sobbing because her adult daughter died on Monday. She was about to turn 30. So when will I feel safe? When will I know that my children will be okay? Never.
I look at their beautiful smiles and watch them play and laugh and I think about the horrible void they would leave behind and my fear is crippling. Maybe if I hadn’t lost Izzy, if I didn’t know that it was really possible I wouldn’t be so aware, so afraid. I think that you don’t really deep down know that it really happens, until it happens in your life. To someone you know, to someone you love. You hear about it, read about it, but you’re insulated, you’re protected, until it happens to you and then it’s real. A reality that you can’t escape from. Ever.
It’s hard to let them leave my sight. It’s hard to let them do things that could hurt them. Abbey is working on her balance beam routine and she’s mastered her cartwheel and round off. I know the next thing is her handspring. When I say that, I think of severed back bones and paralysis. Maddy is an avid softball player and this year, will be learning to pitch. That makes me think of death by line drive to the face. There are a million ways that something horrible and unspeakable could happen to my children. I try to focus and concentrate on the million ways that they can grow up and have wonderful lives and make me smile and laugh. But damn it’s really hard sometimes.
I've felt these same fears since I found I was pregnant with my first. I still daily fear the unknown. I've not lost a child as you have but I struggle daily with the fear of losing my babies. School buses, schools, sports, outside play, omg the trampoline, sstaying with friends, car wrecks, choking, drowning, over medicating, concussions, scrapes, bruises turning into something worse, bug bites, allergies, I can go on and on. I fear this because I have this unconditional love for my children that I have for no other and I always will until the day I pass on to heaven. Your normal Nikki, I hadn't lost a child but my biggest phobia is that it very elk could happen. I've lived 13 years in worry and wonder fearing their every move. Praising God each day they are safe in my presence!!!!!
ReplyDelete