From the minute I saw that blue line on the pregnancy test, I worried. I worried that I was imagining things, that there wasn’t really a little tiny person growing in my tummy, that I would be laughed at at the first scan.
I worried about eating the right things, doing the right things, making sure nothing happened to you while you were in my tummy.
I worried when I was given my twelve week blood test results. I worried about doing too much, about making the Low Papp A worse. I worried that you wouldn’t grow, that I’d given you a terrible start to life.
I worried that you weren’t moving enough, I worried that I was constantly sick, I worried that the only way I could manage the migraines was to swallow paracetamol like sweets.I worried when you arrived about breastfeeding. Were you eating enough, gaining enough weight? I worried about you being sick after a feed. I worried about switching to formula. Then I worried that you wanted more than the formula tin said you should be having for your age.
I worried that something would happen to me, and then who would worry about what happened to you?
I worried that it was too hot when you were tiny, would you overheat in the night? Then I worried that the nights were cooling and you’d wake up from the cold.
I worried about going to you as soon as you cried, and ‘making a rod for my own back’. But I worried more about leaving you to cry your little heart out.
I worried that you’d become reliant on sleep aids. I worried that you wouldn’t self settle. I worried about moving you into your own room.
I worried that you weren’t eating enough as we weaned you. Then I worried that you were eating too much for your age. I worried that we should be cutting down on milk feeds. Then I worried that you weren’t getting enough vitamins if you weren’t drinking as much formula.I worried when you were sick like I’d never worried before. I worried that I couldn’t take the pain away, that something terrible would happen to you. I worried enough not to sleep all night, just lying there listening to the baby monitor, hoping your little body wouldn’t be sick again.
I worried when I handed you over to another woman to be looked after for the first time. I worried about losing the bond with you. I worried whether I was being selfish by going back to work, doing something for me and starting a new job which I had a feeling I’d love, and yet at the same time I worried about making ends meet and I knew that I had to work.
I worried when your routine changed, and I didn’t know what to do. I worried that I wouldn’t find a way forward. I worried when those aforementioned sleep aids that I was so afraid you’d become reliant on wouldn’t settle you.
I worried about all of the bad things in the world. I still do. I worry about protecting you as you grow older. I worry about showing you the right way forward. I worry about the world we live in and I worry about keeping you safe. Yet I worry about wrapping you up too much in cotton wool. I worry that you won’t be your own person.
More than anything else, I just worry. I worry every. single. day that I’m not doing a good enough job. That I am a bad mother. That I don’t fulfil your needs.
And I’m sure I’ll be worrying about this forever more. But please don’t you ever worry that I don’t love you. Because I do, and I always will, and I hope that I’ll love you enough to make up for all of the worries.
This post is dedicated to the people of London, to all of the victims and their families of the terror attacks on March 22nd 2017, and to the emergency services and everyone that stepped in to help. My thoughts are with you all xxx
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