We took Emory to the farmer’s market at McCarren Park earlier today. We had a good time. I was a little neurotic about the cool air, the sun, and whether or not the stroller along the bumpy, city terrain was jiggling his head too much. And then I worried about the dirt and the trash and a little girl coughing. And then I worried about the wind. But overall we had a good time.
Several months ago, when I was about 8 and half months pregnant, my brother sent me an email letting me know what medications I might need when I bring the baby home from the hospital. He said something I’ll never forget. “You work so hard during your pregnancy thinking about your pregnancy, and then the delivery of the baby, you overlook the part about bringing the baby home.”
Wait, we bring him home when we’re done? They give us the baby? Just like that? We don’t need to show ID or pass a test first?
HOLY SHIT.
I never wanted to have kids before I met Toby. But a few weeks after I met him I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. (The hard part was convincing him to spend the rest of his life with me.) It wasn’t long after that I started to imagine making babies with him. (What would they look like? How would they act? What would they eventually design or come up with in order to solve all the world’s problems?) I pictured babies. I pictured having babies. I pictured being pregnant and not drinking booze or coffee. I pictured avoiding seafood, European cheese, and raw meat. I even pictured pooping myself during the delivery. But there was one important thing I overlooked.
I never took my personality – all my quirks, insecurities, anxieties, knack for worry – and applied it to motherhood. And now that I finally got the job, I’ve discovered that my personality and motherhood don’t go together all that well. Because when you take my personality and mix it together with motherhood, you’re left with something that may have good intentions but ends up being potentially dangerous. It’s kind of like wrapping something up in bubble wrap only to have it suffocate to death.
Jeez, your baby is CUTE!
Very well put… It gets easier as time goes on. I think you’ll find you worry less as he grows stronger, and I think it’s natural to feel so protective and worried about your little guy right now, because he is so in need of your constant protection.
I was the same way when I was pregnant- I was SHOCKED to learn that we had to take the baby home with us- and none of the nurses were coming with us. Gak!
Dude, I know exactly the kind of mom I’ll be: Fun, relatively laid-back, and probably more yelly than necessary. Ahem.
I think emery jo is right – once the little guy gets his shots and you’ve dealt with his first bumps, scrapes etc. it will get easier. You’re doing great!
You’re doing fine Michelle. Plenty of neurotic people have children who turn out just fine…just look at my mother. :)
Anyway, being protective is part of the job. And when Emory cuts himself for the first time, you will freak out and panic that the cops are coming to take your precious away from you…but they won’t. Because you are a good mommy.
hugs
Hehehe, this one made me laugh because it sounds like me to a “T”. I am so neurotic about…well….everything now! It’s amazing how different your “pre-kid” self is. I was a COMPLETELY different person, pre-motherhood. I drank, smoked, experimented with drugs, hung out all night with questionable characters, ate M&M’s off the floor, hell I didn’t even look both way before crossing the street! Now?…..oh lord…haha
It’s funny because you never imagine fear or worry of such intensity can even exist, until you have kids. Now my heart palpitates over simple things on a regular basis. I wake up in cold sweats from having nightmares about bad things (that likely only happen in lifetime movies mind you) happening to my child all the time. It’s ridiculous…I know this…but all mother’s know that’s pretty much irrelevant. I chase my kid around like a little mother hen, making sure nothing happens to him. If I could put him in a bubble I would. My boyfriend yells at me all the time because he thinks I am a crazed lunatic (one of our recent conversations):
“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re crazy! Chill the fuck out! No one is going to kidnap him on a crowded street-
-artificial coloring in candy wont give him ADD–the bridge we are driving over WONT snap and cause us to plummet to our death—and NO, there is no chance he could “somehow” fall off of the top floor of the empire state building if we go to visit, and no one is going to fly a plane into it for no reason either!! SO STOP!!”Hey, these are things I worry about…. The point is (yes, there is one, just hang in there, it’s coming…)that you never realize just how much stuff there is out there to be scared about until you become a parent. And from what I hear, it’s perfectly normal (within reason..). So just know that it’s ok and that you are not alone. And until they design an impenetrable bubble for little Gertrude or Butrand we moms are going to continue to worry in this fashion, and husbands and boyfriends alike are just going to have to deal with it….hehe :P
aww! when he gets a little “meatier” and feels less fragile you’ll be less worried. I think, though, even if you DON’T have a quirk for worry, having a baby gives you one!
Michele. I battle all of the time with whether or not I am “on” grace too much. I feel like I turned a new leaf though this weekend. She is in a good place and I need to back off. I feel pretty good about it. This morning in my head I was saying, “this is going pretty well, no confrontations, this is pretty good” but it is such a conscious effort for me. When they are little you focus on external things like temperature (still concerns me when I check on her at night) and getting a cold, etc. Eventually you realize that they get old enough to know how to pull the covers up or off if they need to and they are going to get sick no matter what you do oh and you are too once they start rubbing up against other kids.
Heck woman, I think we all just try not to damage them with the hovering and the intervening. Just catch those moments between obsessions when you can enjoy the moment. It really is harder than it sounds!