Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Expanding My Capacity for Worry


I've never been a worrier. Anxiety is just not really my thing. I tend to leave the worst case scenario musings to my husband and power through on a combination of coffee, adrenaline, and denial. It's a strategy that's always worked for me in the past.

Until now. Until Addie.

I knew my capacity for love would grow exponentially when this little girl came into the world. Everyone tells you to expect that. And it's more, more than I could have expected or imagined, but still...I at least knew that was coming. The worry, however. No one really tells you about the worry. And I worry about her constantly.

I obsess over the contents of her diapers. Is her poo to green? Too runny? Is she wetting too much? Too little? Is she warm enough? Maybe she's too warm? Oh my goodness, is she still breathing!?!? Are her fingernail-claws doing permanent damage to that precious face? Can I trim them without hurting her little fingers? Is she eating enough? Gaining weight fast enough? Sleeping enough? Spending enough time awake? Am I holding her too much or not enough?

Oh, and breast feeding, argh breast feeding! It's going really well for us, but it's also a whole new category of things to worry about. Should I be feeding on demand or on a schedule? Do the contents of her diapers indicate a foremilk/hindmilk imbalance? Should we try block feeding? To pump or not to pump? How often? Before or after she eats? Will giving her a pacifier really ruin things forever? Because she really seems to like it. And if we start feeding bottles will she refuse to go back on the breast?

It's partially about my latent perfectionism, wanting to do everything just right in a realm that has no instruction manual, no definitive right or wrong way to do anything. But it's so much more than that too...

This thing, this precious tiny thing, this life that grew inside my body and seems to have rewritten my very DNA...she's my girl. She's MY girl. She breaks my heart to tiny pieces a thousand times a day and then knits it back together in amazing new shapes. She is fierce and fragile, delicate and yet oh so strong. And she's so new and fresh and innocent. She has no scars. Her life hasn't been deeply touched yet by joy or pain.

And I just want to make sure it's joy first. Joy first, last, and always. I don't want her to ever hurt or be lonely or feel sad. Even though I know, I know that I can't protect her from any of that. Even though I believe we need those things to make us whole and compassionate, that God uses struggle to make us better, stronger, to rub our sharp places smooth. Still. I wish there were another way. A way where she would only ever be blissfully happy and content.

And so, for now, I worry.

And I praise the God who covers her little life with His Grace. Whose capacity for Love spans eternity and then keeps going. Who Created her and entrusted her to me and called it all Good. I try to remember to trust His Grace and His Goodness over any attempts to "do things right" on my own.

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