Which means I am a mother.
Of two children.
Of course I am neurotic.
So I got to thinking.. Which trust me takes some honest to goodness brain power these days, and came to the conclusion that motherhood is one messy, scary, upsetting, terrifying, business. In all the best ways, I assure you.
Let’s take it from the top.
First you, as a pre-mother (who may or may not know it) will fall into one of two categories. You will either be stressed about getting pregnant, or will be staring at a solid blue positive sign stressing about just how you got pregnant. (Speaking as someone with experience in both categories, a Dairy Queen trip is almost always the best way to deal with the initial anxiety.)
So the deed is done, but alas, the worry is far from over. Miscarriage, birth defects, and fat bulging in the most unlikely places is next. Oh yes, we all want healthy babies, it’s true. But we also harbour some sort of asinine thought that we should also look like Heidi Klum at T- I day till blast off.
However, I digress. Anxiety only heightens as the big day approaches.. Complications at birth weigh heavily on a women’s mind. But let’s not leave out some of the biggest sources of anxiety for a mother-to-be.
Collateral damage upon arrival. Or, as I couldn’t help but humming.. The burning ring of fire. Yes, we worry about that… perhaps more than our sometimes ignorant husbands. (“Hey Doc, can you throw an extra stitch in.. ” Men never tire of that joke) But hidden deep behind the obvious anxiety, there are those which we do not dare speak until we lay eyes on our little precious.
Notoriously recognizable family genes we are terrified we will see on our little bundle of joy.
Oh don’t look at me in that tone of voice. We all think it. Thankfully, God made babies rather squishy looking at birth, so as not to worry us initially. He knew that after some solid attachment, Great Aunt Mary’s nose could actually become cute.
So there you are gazing at your beautiful, if not squishy newborn thinking all your petty little worries are over. HA!!
Three letters kept me up at night terrorized and not sleeping if I didn’t hear my children burp, fart, or hiccup every twenty minutes. Far from being anything to joke about, I know now why my mother says she didn’t sleep for months after I slept the night as an infant.
At six months, I took a mini sigh of relief, only to be hit with another realization. Mobility. Small items that can get lodged into their mouths. Blind cords. Electrical outlets. STAIRS. Dear lord how was I going to make it through. And just when I thought I could do it all again, I realized that with the second child I didn’t factor in an entire source of added anxiety. The older child. The older child who nonchalantly packs M & M’s in his toy combine to be scooped up by his 9 month old sister.
Then are they talking, walking, pooping, sharing, caring...
So, as I sat in the passenger seat of the truck as we skidded around on the soft, clay washboard, I thought to myself, damn it Brittany, you will either need a lifetime supply of Prozac, or you need to learn to live with a constant state of anxiety. So I am learning.. …
I am learning that heart palpitations, adrenaline, wine and a husband who doesn’t have an anxious bone in his body, are four things that as a mother you simply can’t live without.
And I haven’t even gotten to puberty, drugs, sex, drinking and driving, reckless stunt driving, driving with intoxicated friends, and a variety of other alcohol induced calamities.
Prozac is looking better and better.