The science of worry

Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat thinking Ethan is in our bed, tangled amongst the covers. He never is, of course-- in fact, Ethan hasn't even slept in our room since Christmas and never shared our bed. But night after night after night, I have almost a phantom feeling of his presence. Usually what I think is Ethan is actually the dog (though a few times I could have sworn my pillow had a heartbeat), but what remains constant is the worry.

I was a worrier before I had Ethan, too. I worried about my career, my appearance, my friends, my family, you name it. I've never been what anyone would describe as "laid back." But what I've realized in the last 7 and a half months is that any worry I thought I had before was nothing compared to what I feel for Ethan.

This is because those worries were almost superficial-- not that they weren't valid or important, but they weren't so ingrained in me the way my Ethan worries are. My Ethan worries are part of me, they are part of my existence and sometimes, they consume me in a way I had never thought possible.

I am always, always worried about Ethan. I am concerned about his weight, his milestones, even his bowel movements. If he's not nursing enough, I worry. If he's nursing too much, I worry. If he doesn't get iron or calcium or drink his water, I worry. All day, every day, worry, worry, worry.

But if I'm being honest, the deeper worries are the ones that reflect my own insecurities. I wrote in an earlier blog post about my issues with food, but something else I've been obsessing about lately is the state of our apartment. Considering we have a baby and a dog, we do okay(ish). The laundry and dishes are always done and we have a woman come in every two weeks to do the bigger cleaning jobs. Still, because I've never been the tidiest person, I am very worried that Ethan will grow up with messy habits and maybe he'll be bullied for this and maybe girls won't want to date him...in truth, I'm a relatively well-adjusted 31 year old with friends and a relationship history and money in the bank who just happens to be a bit of slob, but I get it into my mind that if Ethan is messy like me I will have screwed him up completely, and down and down and down the rabbit hole I go. To start him on the right foot early, I started singing a little cleaning song when we put away his toys and we dust together and I let him watch me fold laundry. Are these activities ingraining positive cleaning habits? Probably not, but for a little while, it alleviates the worry.

Not pictured: Worry about the sun.

I want him to have lots of friends, to be good at sports, to do well in school, to be kind, curious, open-minded and adventurous. Unfortunately what I sometimes (falsely) lead myself to believe is that babies are born as a blank canvas and any deviation from perfection is the sole responsibility of the parents. Intellectually I know this isn't true and I certainly don't blame my own parents for my faults, but herein lies the key worry.

*Deep breath.* I worry about being the perfect mother.

I know perfect mothers don't exist. I know Instagram is just for show-- I myself have posted beautiful coordinated photos of me with my little guy that are just the tiniest slice of an otherwise hectic, very uncoordinated day. I also know that Ethan is healthy and happy and has two parents who love him, and I know that this is more important than any of the other stuff. But, that doesn't stop me from using my measuring stick and comparing myself to people who I perceive to be doing a better job. So, when he naps, I puree fruit and fold towels and read every article I can find about safe sunscreen, organic recipes, sensory exploration and what it means when a baby touches his head. I plan his outfits. I reorganize the toys. And-- surprise, surprise-- at the end of the day, I'm exhausted.

Maybe I'm neurotic and a little bit crazy. However, I think the root of all of this is that mothers, from the moment their babies are born, are thrust into an all-consuming, 24/7 job that we have no training for. There's no test to study for, no exam, no instruction manual. To be blunt-- those pregnancy books don't teach you shit, so we have to learn as we go, make mistakes along the way, and without a blueprint or a template to follow, we look inward and everything we see inside ourselves is the guidepost by which we judge what we do or do not want for our babies. When we don't hit those markers 100 per cent of the time, well, that's when the worry sets in.

I don't mean to be so self-deprecating. I hope that Ethan shares my love of books, my ability to manage money well, my loyalty towards my friends and my capacity for forgiveness and finding the good in people. These are qualities I'm proud of and ones that I believe can make me a good, if not perfect, mother. And, and as for my characteristics I don't love-- I'm messy, I can't iron, I bite my nails, I hate cooking and I worry A LOT-- well, Ethan is just the best motivation to strive to be a better, but still not perfect, version of myself.

One kid, two kids...

Yesterday was National Siblings Day, and it got me thinking about the possibility of adding another little munchkin to our clan. It's not something I'm considering anytime soon (more on this later), but in my mom circle and even with other friends and family, it's a pretty regular topic of conversation.

Me and my three sibs

The funny thing is, though, I'm still on the fence about having a second at all. It always shocks people when I say this, in part because I'm the oldest of four, so siblings have played a pretty significant role in my life. However, my brother Jacob is six years younger than me, so even though we "grew up" together, we were always at different stages, never overlapped in high school and didn't really have anything to compete over. I was an adult when the younger two were born, and they are amazing and were such a formative part of my twenties, but again-- not exactly your typical sibling relationship.

The six-year age gap was in many ways great because I still had a little brother but didn't have to worry about him dating my friends or taking all my parents' attention. That said, my mom started younger than I did and even though men can seemingly procreate forever, Dave and I have some years between us which could make waiting too long a challenge. I also think in a lot of cases, too big of an age gap creates an emotional distance that is difficult for parents and children alike, particularly when it comes to finding common ground and being able to play and have fun together.

On the other end of the spectrum, two under two absolutely does not work for me. I found pregnancy to be, on the whole, exhausting. I can't imagine doing it with a toddler who is just learning to communicate properly and is still in diapers. I also really want to be able to enjoy these early years with Ethan and give him my full attention. I'm tired enough as it is, I do not feel a burning desire to add morning sickness and swollen ankles to the mix.

So, in theory, if we were to go for Number 2, I'd be looking to land somewhere in between these extremes. I'll be 32 in August, so I could have another at 34 or 35 and still be considered relatively low risk, pregnancy-wise. Ethan would be close to starting kindergarten, which would free up a little more time to devote to a baby.

But, let's backpedal for a second. As I mentioned, I've never been sure about having two kids. I wanted one so, so badly, but had always felt that I would be content with having an only child. Since Ethan was born I've been more inclined to consider another, but I'm still not completely sold. It's a bit of an awkward topic for me because since I'm relatively young with minimal health issues, people tend to assume that of course I would want more kids. In fact, some will even suggest that stopping at one is selfish or lazy or unfair to poor unsuspecting Ethan.

The selfish comment is my favourite, because by definition, choosing to become a parent (and I would argue specifically a mother) is one of the most selfless things a person can do. Also, part of the reason I'm uncertain about another kid is that I want to be able to give Ethan the absolute best life I can-- not just materially, but emotionally as well. If I feel that I'm best able to do that by raising him as an only child, it's not selfish, it's trusting my instincts as a mother.

When it comes to laziness, I just laugh at that one. If Ethan remains an only child, believe me, he will know every drop-in centre and playgroup in the west end and beyond. He will have enough playdates to make his head spin because I will be extra, extra diligent in making sure he learns how to interact with other kids. I'm also a lot more likely to eventually resume my career at full speed in this scenario because I won't be as stretched with responsibilities at home and I won't have to be crunching numbers on how on earth we can afford to put two kids in daycare.

And, with fairness, well, it depends on who you ask. I know a lot of only children-- some of them always wanted siblings and others had super awesome childhoods that they wouldn't trade for the Brady Bunch. I also know people who hate their siblings, so you never know exactly how the cookie is going to crumble, and I don't believe that having brothers and sisters inherently makes you a better or worse person, or a happier or sadder child. So many factors go into making a life great and the family composition is just one small piece of the puzzle.

I do want to go back to the selfishness piece, though. Despite what the mom-shamers will say, it is actually okay to be a little bit selfish sometimes. Even though having Ethan has changed my very existence completely, I do take some comfort in the fact that to-date, it hasn't led to a absolute and total overhaul of my "old life." For example, I love my tiny car-- it's the first big thing I've ever really owned, and in the city it's awesome for getting into those itty bitty parking spaces. But, while it's relatively practical with one child, it would not be so easy with two-- I wouldn't be able to fit a double stroller in my hatch! Similarly, a few years ago, Dave and I bought a condo in our neighbourhood that will finally be ready next winter, and we had so much fun picking out finishes and colours and appliances for a brand new place that will be really and truly ours. The catch? It's not a ton of space, so we could make it work but after a few years it might feel like a tight squeeze for a growing family. And of course, two kids means more expenses in general, stretching everything a little thinner. In other words, I'm not sure I'm ready to sacrifice some of the comforts and familiarities that I've been able to hang on to with only having one kid so far.

On the flip side, though, having a baby is amazing and as I alluded to above, it's only been since Ethan arrived that I realized how incredibly special it is to hold a tiny person you created in your arms. When I think about the possibility of never having these moments again, my stomach flips a bit and suddenly I'm thinking that maybe moving to more space in the suburbs would actually be quite nice, and double strollers make moms look really bad ass and having a few hours to myself in the evenings and during naps is kind of overrated...Anyway, we have time to think about it, but until then, Happy (belated) Siblings Day!