One moment, I'm boo-hooing into my longsuffering husband's armpit because Ava's had a choking spell and I'm convinced my instincts aren't sharp enough act in aid to keep her lung clear..... and then the next morning I'm beaming back at her pediatrician whose ecstatic gushing over her health and development plasters my previously broken heart with smiley-face stickers.
In my quest for reassurance -- the kind that no well-meaning Facebook comment can provide -- I'm coming to the conclusion that ALL parenting is fraught with danger, and when you invite another individual into this world, you're essentially handing them your heart to use as a chew toy.
Just the fact that they exist has he potential to thrill you to tears, as well as to terrify you beyond all reason.
There is no perfect assurance they will be okay.... Or okay as YOU define it. God's ways being above our ways and all, sometimes his Way is not our preference.
Maybe this is why I meet so many incredible parents when we're in the hospital with our daughter. The trials of illness and disability are capable of spitting out very calm people on the other side. These parents who have walked through the fire with their kids are ALWAYS the first people I would contact in the event of a Zombie apocalypse. They'll nail the fort shut, calmly assess the food supply, and engage you in honest, heartfelt conversation regarding your child's brush with braineaters until the wave of unded bypasses your burg. They'll never whine about the invasion or the lack of chocolate pudding packs in the rations. They're just gonna keep the windows and doors secured and make short order of any zombie dumb enough to dance with a chainsaw.
Gruesome metaphors, perhaps.
Sorry.
I'm sitting in the teen romance section of a bookstore, and apparently they're all the rage in romance these days.
Anyway, the meat of the matter (ew) is this:
Parenting is a unending cycle of celebration, diligent exhaustion, and fear.
Kid learns how to crawl after months of medical professionals reminding you that their development will be challenged. You cheer them down the hallway. After a few weeks, the novelty wears off, and you tire of chasing them. You pull all the pluggables out of the walls and try to keep a fascinating toy in their hand at all times. Then your kid discovers the allure of dark, steep stairwells, and it doesn't matter whether you're too tired to chase them or too broke to buy a baby gate. You make do with a big, ominous box on the landing.
You deal. And if you've been a little further down a dark road with that kid, you're just excited to walk a bit further with their little hand placed trustingly in yours.
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