Worry wart

As a parent I find plenty of things to worry about with each sunrise. It's been like that since Anastasia was born on that November evening almost 6 years ago. That first night we listened to her wheeze, gasp, and choke as she struggled to get fluid and gunk (for lack of a better term) our of her lungs following birth. I watched her chest constantly to make sure she was still breathing. It was nerve-wracking and draining. Once we got her home I worried about weight gain, were her poops the right color, and was the temperature in the house too hot or too cold for her. I vividly remember one night after we had moved her to her own room, I lay in my bed soaked with sweat as I fretted over the necessity of the crib bumper. I crept down the hall and slid her crib away from the wall so I could untie all the little strings and remove the bumper. Of course, the next morning when she bonked her head on the slats, my sanity returned and I replaced the bumper.

My girls are older now, so the worries have evolved. Some are rational, most are not. My mommy panic switch isn't quite so quick to flip these days, but I still find myself worrying about whether daycare put on enough sunscreen or if they are learning enough each day. Am I reading fewer books than I used to? Should Ainsley be able to identify all her alphabet letters yet? Do I let them have too much sugar? Not enough fiber?

I've been calling a few times each day to check up on my new niece. I remember all too well how overwhelming those first six weeks of parenthood are. You are suddenly in charge of someone other than yourself. You are responsible for her every moment. For her feedings and cleanings, for her health care and her routine. It's up to you to nurture her, advocate for her, and above all else, love her. It's not an easy road and though the worries currently presenting themselves to my sister-in-law and brother-in-law aren't ones I've had to personally deal with, as a parent I feel their pain. I feel their helplessness because I've shouldered that burden many times over the last 6 years.

My advice to them (which I am not calling to impose upon them during this stressful time!) is to stand strong and don't second guess yourself. You are the experts on Isabelle. No doctor, no nurse, and (sorry Beth and James) no grandparent can do any better than the two of you. You have known her from the very beginning and you get to call the shots. I'm proud of you and you will survive this. One day all this jaundice and weight loss will be a thing of the past. Isabelle will be stuffing crackers into her mouth with both chubby fists and you'll laugh about the days when she lost weight. In the meantime, hold on to each other and remember you are on the same team. I didn't buy you those "Team Hrouda" shirts for nothing.

As for me, I'm off to worry about whether my daughter will get Lyme disease at camp this summer and whether the other one will ever stop sucking her thumb. I've got a few good hours before bedtime, I'm sure I can dig up a few more worries between now and then.