knew there was likely merit to such an opinion, I didn’t realize the depth of truth. It became shockingly clear when I finally became a mother.
When one of my high school friends found out I was struggling with infertility, she tried to cheer me up with her
perspective on how much better off I was without having children. She confessed that having children overshadowed her life with perpetual worry. My friend loved her children, but she missed the freedom and the sense of well-being and peace
that once was at the center of her life.
At the time, I thought she was just trying to spin my situation, and maybe she was, but I now have a deep understanding of
the worrying element she warned me about. My child has been injured at daycare twice in the last month. Both times she fell on her head. The first time, she ended up with a nasty looking bruise, this second time; she had another bruise and several scrapes.
Logically, I understand that she is exploring her world and trying diligently to master the art of walking. I am aware that children fall and need to learn from their falls to get back up, on many different levels. However, as a mother, logical thinking is not my default emotion. I know she is okay this time, but what about the next time? That is where my worry trumps logical thinking.
A few years down the road, what if she struggles in school? What if reading does not come easily to her? Perhaps math
will be her least favorite subject. No child wants to be tutored by her mother. I am certainly not worried about her grades; I am worried about her effort, her self-confidence, her motivation, and her ability to see things through. What if she is, gasp…lazy?
Already I fear the teenage years. I worry about whether or not she will be teased by mean girls or worse, whether she
might turn into a mean girl. I am panic stricken imagining what it will be like the first time she has her heart broken. I know I can assure her that each broken heart teaches important life lessons, but I also know that she will not believe me nor will it reduce the devastation she feels.
I have already planned to worry the rest of my life for my child. And yet, I have never been so grateful for feeling fearful.
For me, the worry is just an honor and a blessing. I cannot allow my worry to prevent me from enjoying her and reveling in all that motherhood has to offer. I may need some help with this from my friends. I am likely one of the most talented worriers on the planet. So, who is in on supporting, justifying, and talking me down from my worry? This is no small order. As my husband is fond of saying, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”