Morbidity and Mortality

Everyone told me that becoming a mother would bring to light my own mortality. That doesn't even begin to cover the morbidity of the worst case scenarios that constantly run through my head. As someone who used to be spontaneous and lived by the creed "why not?", I've turned into a nervous and over thinking woman.

When we took Ariana to the carnival my eyes were constantly darting to and fro analyzing everyone around us to see who looked most likely to swoop Ariana up and run. I quickly inspected the construction of the rides we were near fearing a rickety car on the mini coaster would fly off and come barrelling towards us. I did go down the big slide on a potato sack with Ariana, but I kept one hand wrapped around her waist and the other dragging on the slide itself to create resistance. We were all going to go on the ferris wheel, which I used to LOVE, but the second we were standing underneath it's looming presence my stomach turned and I clutched Ariana for dear life. There is no way in hell I was taking her on that thing. What if it tips over? What if our car becomes unhinged? What if she lunges for the side and topples to her death? What if...?

It gives me chills to type some of these things out, but you wouldn't even imagine the visual image I get with each paranoid passing though. I can't stop them, though. Ariana does get hurt, she does have fun and get to run and play so I don't feel like I'm being obsessive and holding her back from just being a kid. But I'm always right there. I don't know how I'll be when she's old enough to be away from me and I can't watch her every move.

I worry a lot about what things would be like should something happen to me. I get a huge lump in my throat just thinking of her not remembering who I am. Growing up without a Mother to braid her hair and teach her about puberty and how to recover from a broken heart. She was playing happily in the tub last night while I sat there trying to interact with her despite my raging migraine. Then I remembered a friend of the family who almost died of a brain aneurysm and my imagination went haywire. Ariana like to play in the water coming out of the faucet so I leave it on a slow trickle for her. In my mind my headache wasn't just a migraine, but a brain aneurysm and I collapsed. Ariana tried to climb out of the tub and hit her head. Marty came home from work 4 hours later to a flooded apartment, a dead wife and a drowned daughter. I turned off the faucet and hugged Ariana close trying to force the images from my head.

I don't know if every mother experiences this sort of morbidity, but it's horrible. It makes you realize that your life will never be your own again; that everything you do, say, think, and feel is for your child. I'm almost hesitant to post this entry fearing that one of you might try to have me committed!!! Does anyone else think or feel this way?