I didn’t realize parenting would involve quite so much worrying.
Early on, we were regulars at the pediatrician’s office — not unusual for first-time parents, I know. Some of it was routine stuff, some was us being overly cautious, some was because everything was so new we had no idea what was normal for him.
(I remember getting his first prescription filled — Zantac for reflux — and the pharmacist asked me what flavors he liked. I was like, um, I don’t know, we just met.)
Gradually we stopped calling the doctor all the time. His immune system strengthened thanks to day care (ha), and he outgrew the reflux. But the worrying and the immediate assumption of doom and gloom? Still there.
He bumps his head? I’m running all the tests for concussions.
Doesn’t eat much at dinner? Might be the flu.
Runny nose? Why is it going on forever?
Cough? Pneumonia and/or collapsed lung.
Mosquito bite? Looks unnaturally large, might be a severe allergic reaction or possibly a poisonous spider bite.
Mole I don’t remember seeing? Oh, god, skin cancer.
Bruise? Oh, god, leukemia.
I probably need to think less about symptoms and worst-case scenarios and more about how lucky I am to have such an active, smart, engaging kid. I have seen parents handle news far worse than I have gotten with grace and determination. I hope to never have to find out for myself how I would react. And maybe I’ll outgrow the constant worrying?
Except, oh God, he is going to be in elementary school before I know it and eventually he will be driving and going to parties and meeting girls and all kinds of bad things can happen. And I don’t even want to hear about college.
Outgrow worrying, ha. Not likely.