My blessing turned 5 months old today. I am so patting myself on the back for a job well done. If you knew me, you would know I live in a constant anxiety ridden existence, where boogie men wait around every dark corner to jump out at me and ruin a fine day.
I am a complete pessimist. Not only is that glass half empty, there is a leak at the bottom of the glass and who's going to clean up that mess? Really? It's going to dribble everywhere. I just...Oh sorry, there I go again. Where was I/
Oh yes, pessimism. During my entire pregnancy I was convinced something Bad was going to happen. Capitol B.A.D. The fact that I had suffered a miscarriage the year before only fueled my fire. I kept my husband up many a night wailing and crying about how I was going to lose this one too. Then the second trimester showed up and the baby was fine. I didn't believe it of course. I now had new problems to worry over. Pre-term labor, stillbirth, fatal birth defects. You name I thought it. What's interesting though is how I deal with this type of fear. I suffer alone, well almost alone, I do drag my husband down into hell with me. But, not once did I call the doctor and demand to be seen because of how strong my feelings were. I didn't want her knowing just how crazy I was (am). I was afraid that then she would take my child away from me, deeming me unfit for parenthood.
This was the first thought I actually had when my healthy little girl was born. I looked into her eyes, fell in love, and immediately thought they wouldn't let me leave the hospital with her. I was not going to make it as a mother.
Five months have passed and I do still doubt myself every day. But when I look into my healthy, beautiful baby's eyes, I know that I am responsible for the smile on her face, the clothes on her back, the diaper on her butt, and the chubby rolls on her legs. Maybe I won't ruin her life after all. Maybe I can make it as a good mom.