The worrier

‘I think I’m going to combust with worry’, I said to a friend recently. I’m a worrier by nature but having a baby has taken my level of worrying to an entirely new level. Whilst in the middle of worrying about one thing, I hop right on over to the next.

Since you were born I have worried about everything from your blocked tear duct (always quite high on the list) to whether you are too hot or too cold. Feeding, sleeping, your dry skin and lack of dirty nappies have all caused hours of fretting. A few weeks ago you started crying during feeding and refused to continue. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t feed properly in the days that followed (you’ve always been a big eater). Was it teething? Could it be colic? Was your nose blocked? Eventually I figured it out – you were distracted. The world around you is fascinating and there are so many interesting things you could be looking at rather than feeding. Perhaps if I was more relaxed I would have realised sooner.

You are growing at such a speed – every day you seem to change so much. You have recently discovered your hands. Or more specifically, how much you enjoy sucking on them. Not content with putting one finger in your mouth, you ram three or four fingers in at a time. Twice in the last week you have been lying on your back happily sucking on your hands when you suddenly choked on the extra saliva this has produced. I naturally flew into a complete panic, whipping up a tornado of worry around me.

I wish I could be less anxious – or at least not worry about every little scratch or mark – but this it all so new to me. And I realise that I’m never going to stop worrying about you (your grandparents remind me of this). Worrying is part of being a parent. But hopefully as you grow (and I grow as a mother) I will stop worrying about every tiny thing.

Thank goodness for your extremely laid-back father, Mr Unflappable. Lets hope that you take after him…

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