If you ever allowed yourself the time and energy it takes to tackle all of those fears that nest in your head you could simply NOT be a good parent. There would be no foods you could eat, no foods your child could eat, no place you could go, no one would talk to you, etc. You'd just be a crazy hermite germaphobe freak parent who raises one of those weird kids who eats butter by the stick and calls himself "Frankie" when his name is John.
For as long as I can remember I've had dreams about these enormous Tsunami type waves come at me and wash over me. I've never been afraid of them. I think this is because when I was very little, one of the summers we spent at Lake Michigan I was playing in the waves and one washed over me. I opened my eyes to see green water sparkling brilliant in the sun, and I felt at peace.
Those dreams haven't changed, but in my waking life I feel those waves coming towards me and they aren't as harmless or pleasant as in my dreams. Each time a wave of panic threatens to wash over me I try to take a breath and give it to God.
What if she doesn't get better? What if they were right about vaccines and I've given her Autism? What if daycare is what is making her sick? Why can't I just stay home and take care of her?
I feel deficient as a mother when I think these things and they simply won't do.
I love that child with every fiber of my being and I will not let the waves wash over me. There is no peace in that.
Fortunately right about the time I feel like I'll break Zoe farts like an old man or blows out a diaper and we both think it's hilarious and life is broken down into simple, one syllable tasks like changing diapers and giving baths. Or...she makes a face like this...
I never liked abstract art, and I won't give into abstract thinking.
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