Mothers always have fears, lots of fears. In fact, we are good at that. I can’t count how many times a day I’m terrified. I thought this would be over soon after the dangerous and clumsy toddler age had passed. But no, it’s not over and will never be.
I should have considered that earlier, shouldn’t I? I did, actually. I knew motherhood was for life. I knew fears would be my constant companions, all the time, everywhere. I knew a little creature and his well-being depended on my vigilance. I thought I was prepared for being a parent. I was.
But why didn’t they tell me it could be so bloody daunting? More than any fear I have ever had. I used to believe spiders would always be the most horrible nightmare in my life. OK, I still find them repellent but I’m not going to discuss my own childish fears right now. 🙂
Children dread thousands of things. Then we grow up and become brave. Mm, try again. We grow up, then have kids and realise that we have been much braver in our childhood. We pretend to be strong (our offspring are supposed to have faith in their parents’ superpower, right?) when we are scared to death. Of millions of things. Yes, it’s definitely worse than it has been in our childhood.
This is the dark face of parenthood. Fears are the other side of the coin and I accept this. I never let them overpower the bliss of having a child. Yet, they are impossible to switch off.
He was a tiny few-week embryo and I was already full of anxiety.
I was worried about his birth.
I was worried right after that. He seemed so fragile to me. And I wanted to be the gentlest touch for him.
I dreaded the huge responsibility that motherhood thrust upon me.
I dreaded his crying because I wasn’t sure I would understand his needs instantly. And wasn’t I the only person in his entire universe to know what he needed?
I dreaded every single vaccination. I dreaded the post-vaccination period even more. I dreaded the possibility of fever, vomiting or skin rashes. I hated when he was in pain and I was unable to relieve his condition. I am a mother. Then, why is there no trace of that superpower, but a few bottles of medicine, instead?!
I feared his first steps because they were so unstable.
I was dying a little inside every time he hurt himself. Why didn’t I react more quickly? I could have prevented him from falling down. I still feel this way. My heart sinks painfully when I see a child hurting themselves.
I feared I might have said something insulting. He is so young, his father and I are his closest friends. We are not supposed to make him sad, are we?
I fear now…
Watch out, my boy! Goodness, how fast he’s riding this bike! Hey, training wheels, why are you there since you’re not slowing it down at all?!
Do I teach him right about the world? About honesty and kindness? About love and respect?
Is he going to become a good person? A generous and noble one just like his father? Or…?
Do I encourage him enough and do I give him the self-confidence I want him to have?
Am I a bad mother because I let him watch Paw Patrol for over an hour while I’m struggling to complete a blog post?
As for blogging, am I wrong because I reveal bits of his childhood without having asked for his permission? One day, when he is old enough to read my stuff, is he going to be disappointed with his mummy because she has shared too much (another mummy is also asking herself similar questions)?
I don’t have the answers…
Well, this is motherhood. It means happiness, pure and boundless. It means fears, too. And every single day I thank my fortune for allowing me to experience both.