I’ve always been prone to worrying about my kids.
Since the day my oldest was born, my children are the last thing I think about before I go to bed (Yes, I still go make sure they are all breathing. Yes, every night.) and the first thing that pops into my mind when I wake up.
I worry when they climb the slide. I check for signs of a concussion every time they bump their head. I worry when they straight up refuse to eat their vegetables. I worry every time they get a runny nose. I worry when they eat. (I straight up cut up my oldest’s grapes until she was five because I read about grapes being a choking hazard. Same with hot dogs.)
It sounds exhausting, and in some ways it is, but it’s also mostly just my natural state when it comes to parenting so I don’t really notice it anymore.
Except now there are three. And because math, when you have three, your worry doesn’t just triple. It octuples. (Confession: I had to look up that word.)
Now not only do I have three of them to worry about–if they are healthy, growing, learning–I worry if they are all getting the attention they need. I worry about how they’re interacting with each other.
And what has become most obvious to me lately, I worry if I’m doing this mom thing right.
Am I getting enough quality time with the six year old in between her activities and homework? Is she losing teeth on schedule? Is she being kind at school?
Am I socializing the toddler enough? Is her stranger anxiety normal? What about the fact that her older sister was speaking sentences by now and she barely puts together a word? Is she watching too much t.v.? Is it good for her to spend time playing by herself or should I be engaging with her more?
Is the baby gaining weight like she should? Does she still need to be on reflux medicine? Are the big kids covering her in germs every time they walk through the room? Is she sleeping like she should for this age? Am I bathing her often enough? Is the lotion I picked out for her safe or full of chemicals?
Am I spending too much time holding the baby and not enough time with the toddler? Am I not holding the baby enough? Should I be looking for ways to prepare the toddler to be without me so that when preschool comes she’s more ready or should I let her be clingy and enjoy the bonding time?
Are we reading enough? Am I feeding them too much pizza? Did I get them too much for Christmas? Did I get the right things? Did I teach them that presents aren’t the point? Did I teach them to be grateful no matter what?
Perhaps, most importantly of all: Did I remember to move the damn elf?
Okay so you probably get the point.
I could go on and on (and on) listing all the things to worry about and all the different opportunities to doubt my own parenting. How can I ever know if I’m doing things “right”? It’s like building a life sized puzzle without knowing what the end picture will look like.
But even after hearing the long list of stress-inducing questions, it may come as a surprise that my goal isn’t to stop worrying or even to worry less. I’m fine with worry being a part of this gig for me.
Because raising these humans is the most important work I’ve ever done, and probably will ever do. When it comes to the legacy I will leave on this earth, they are it. So this mama gig isn’t something I take lightly. We all care in different ways. Part of mine is worrying.
So I’ll keep asking all these hard questions and wondering about answers I can’t possibly know. And I’ll make sure I take breaks from worrying long enough to enjoy the process of building the puzzle. And I’ll do my best to trust my gut when I need to.
And I’m sure, as they get older and parenting changes, so will my worrying.
But for now, I’ll keep cutting up grapes.