3 January 2011
I've worried my whole life.
Becoming a parent took worrying to a whole, previously unimaginable, new level.
I worried whether I would ever have children. I worried about genetics. I worried about how long it would take to conceive.
I worried all the way through each pregnancy. I worried whether I was healthy enough, whether my baby was healthy enough. I worried about what I ate, drank, touched, did. I worried about labour, about how much it would hurt, whether I would have the stamina to get through it.
I worried about caring for a newborn baby - such a responsibility. Was I holding him right? Was he feeding? Was he sleeping? Was he too hot or too cold? Should he be crying more or less? Was he okay?
I worry whether my boys are developing 'normally', I also worry that I am wishing their lives away waiting to hit the next developmental milestone.
I worry about feeding them. I worry that they are eating enough fruit and vegetables. I worry that they are too fussy, that they eat too much bread. I worry that I am too strict, but I worry more that they don't listen to me.
I worry that I don't stimulate them enough and I worry that they are over-stimulated. How much baking and crafting is enough? Should I be taking them to clubs yet? I know I should take them for swimming lessons, but I worry about how I look in a swimsuit. I worry that this is selfish.
I worry that I'll be the fattest mum at the school gates. I worry that their friends will laugh at them. I worry that they won't make friends. I worry that they are too shy and lack confidence.
I know I'll worry about them for the rest of our lives.
The biggest worry of all is when they are ill. They are so small and mine don't really say what is wrong. They just get quiet, clingy and teary. My imagination runs riot and I get hypochondria-by-proxy. I worry myself sick.
Last Wednesday Cash had to go to hospital with suspected swine flu, but he was treated and bounced back remarkably quickly. Thank you all for your get well wishes, they worked - he is full of beans again. I am relieved, but still on edge.
Three year old Presley has had a temperature, cold and nasty cough since Christmas Eve, although his symptoms haven't been as dramatic or acute as his brother's, they are enough for me to worry. I listen to him coughing in his sleep and know there is little I can do to help him. Each morning he is tired. He has spent the past couple of days laying on our laps. I'm going to take him back to the GP tomorrow. Last Wednesday the GP said it was just a virus. I'm hoping this time the GP can treat him or at least tell me that there is nothing to worry about.
I will still worry.