In the Clear
“So…at what point in your pregnancies did you stop worrying about, you know…”
“Miscarriage?”
“Yeah. When did you feel like you were in the clear?”
I have a close friend whose pregnancy is brand spanking new, and of course, her mind is filled with the totally irrational but ultra-normal fears of miscarriage, complications, etc. Listening to her on the phone yesterday, my mind wandered back to the 7th week of my first pregnancy, when I had the Birth Center administrator on the phone and I was pleading with her to give me an ultrasound just to “make sure everything is okay.” I began to cry when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to budge. (I have since discovered that telling your midwife or OB that you have been spotting and/or cramping is almost a sure-fire way to get an extra ultrasound, but you didn’t hear it from me.)
The administrator thought she was calming my fears when she said that I would be reassured when I could hear the baby’s heartbeat. True, I did feel relieved to hear the sound of tiny galloping horses out of the Doppler at 10 weeks. And seeing the baby move in utero during the 20 week ultrasound helped me relax as well. Of course, when Grace was born and given a clean bill of health, I felt even better.
But what I didn’t have the heart to tell my friend on the phone yesterday was that you never stop having irrational (but totally normal) fears for your children. Instead of miscarriage, I now worry that they will fall out of the window if they run into the screen. Or that they will spontaneously stop breathing in their sleep. I worry that something will happen to my husband, or to me. I worry about being evacuated from our home during a natural (or unnatural) disaster and not having enough food for them. What if I don’t have access to food and water and can’t produce milk for Natalie? When they are 13, I will worry that some jerk will be careless with their heart. It won’t stop there. My mom still worries when I travel or that I’m not getting enough sleep. Heartache and hardship will haunt our children at various stages of their lives, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it but to give them a strong sense of self and to pray for them.
So that’s what I told my friend—that I prayed for a sense of peace to wash over her in these first worrisome days of parenthood.
“Miscarriage?”
“Yeah. When did you feel like you were in the clear?”
I have a close friend whose pregnancy is brand spanking new, and of course, her mind is filled with the totally irrational but ultra-normal fears of miscarriage, complications, etc. Listening to her on the phone yesterday, my mind wandered back to the 7th week of my first pregnancy, when I had the Birth Center administrator on the phone and I was pleading with her to give me an ultrasound just to “make sure everything is okay.” I began to cry when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to budge. (I have since discovered that telling your midwife or OB that you have been spotting and/or cramping is almost a sure-fire way to get an extra ultrasound, but you didn’t hear it from me.)
The administrator thought she was calming my fears when she said that I would be reassured when I could hear the baby’s heartbeat. True, I did feel relieved to hear the sound of tiny galloping horses out of the Doppler at 10 weeks. And seeing the baby move in utero during the 20 week ultrasound helped me relax as well. Of course, when Grace was born and given a clean bill of health, I felt even better.
But what I didn’t have the heart to tell my friend on the phone yesterday was that you never stop having irrational (but totally normal) fears for your children. Instead of miscarriage, I now worry that they will fall out of the window if they run into the screen. Or that they will spontaneously stop breathing in their sleep. I worry that something will happen to my husband, or to me. I worry about being evacuated from our home during a natural (or unnatural) disaster and not having enough food for them. What if I don’t have access to food and water and can’t produce milk for Natalie? When they are 13, I will worry that some jerk will be careless with their heart. It won’t stop there. My mom still worries when I travel or that I’m not getting enough sleep. Heartache and hardship will haunt our children at various stages of their lives, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it but to give them a strong sense of self and to pray for them.
So that’s what I told my friend—that I prayed for a sense of peace to wash over her in these first worrisome days of parenthood.
posted by Sarah at 9:43 PM
4 Comments:
Dear Sare,
And my mom and your grandmother still worries about me and Doug and Steve. She once told me that it never ends. Just think how much you will worry when your daughters are labor in and giving birth. Of course, it's a perfectly "safe" and natural thing and nothing "ever" goes wrong, but mothers still are worry worts! Love you, Pops
While you're exactly right - having fears for your children's safety is totally normal, from my experience of living with my sister and her baby, I get the impression that there is a widespread idea that the concept of being prepared for childbirth (etc) is equivalent to being aware of every possible thing that could go wrong. Which obviously contributes to the fear quite considerably - often without substantial benefit.
Thanks for confirming my stance that mothers will always concern themselves with their kids' safety, Mom!
Richard-I totally agree! My friends and I decided that "What to Expect When You're Expecting" should be re-titled "What to Freak Out About Unnecessarily When You're Expecting." I had a hard time ending this post and almost ended it with some sort of acknowledgement thatwe parents do not own our kids. We are simply their stewards, their guardians. We can not control them nor can we control the world they live in. But we can control ourselves and the examples we set for them. I hope my kids remember that I laughed a lot, took some risks, was safe in other ways, etc.
This moved me to the point that I sent it to my mom. Thanks for writing, Sarah....
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