So, April. April, April, April.
Last April I was worried sick over my new baby. I didn’t talk much about it in real time because 1, I was exhausted from sheer lack of sleep and 2, because I was busy convincing myself that it was completely my fault that we were struggling like whoa with breastfeeding. It took C six days to gain back her birthweight. I was racked with guilt for supplementing her with formula. I detest admitting fault (even when it’s not my fault) so I swept the entire topic under the rug and pretended that I was completely in control. Hint: I wasn’t. Another hint: no one is (except on those rare occasions that they are.)
Fast forward one year. Today C had her one year checkup. In the waiting room I checked off all the boxes on the worksheet that proved that I have One Healthy Child. It was a wonderful feeling to know that my baby is perfect perfect perfect and that this set of papers was just the document to prove it. She’s walking. She’s babbling. She’s expressing love and care. She’s feeding herself.
They checked her heartbeat.
“Hmmmm. It seems like there is a little murmur. I wouldn’t worry. This is very normal and most of the time it’s an ‘innocent’ murmur.”
Innocent. Like it’s just hanging out in her heart, waiting for the bus. No, ma’am, I don’t mean to cause any trouble. Move along.
But just to be sure this murmur is minding its own business and is really only at the wrong place at the wrong time, being accused of something that it has no intent of doing, C is going in for an echo sonogram next week. I’m worrying over a probable nothing and this is likely days-old April breastfeeding all over again.
It got hot within the last 36 hours. I took C out in her stroller for a walk this afternoon and put on my Teva sandals which I haven’t worn in a year. The leather on them is worn and soft because I traipsed all over Seoul in them during the Korean rainy season. They know my feet but my feet are acting like they are foreign. I had a blister by the time our one-hour walk was over. My feet and my mind are the same. Whenever life introduces a hiccup much like all the other hiccups they’ve known before, I am completely discombobulated. I worry and stress (what’s new?) over small things that will likely be completely remedied by infant formula, meds, and a bit more walking.
This, I am learning, is parenthood. I will worry. Sometimes it will be over small things that are innocent, and sometimes it will be over big nasty beasts that I will remove my gloves and bloody noses for. But I will always do what is best for my girl and care for her every time a new blister boils up.