Friday, August 29, 2014


My mind is quick to run ahead with scenarios anyway, but now that we have a baby, worry crops up so easily.

Rolling over in the night, it's quiet and I wonder if Pippin is still breathing. After lying there a few more seconds, I go over and lay my hand on his chest and am reassured.

Am I dressing him too warmly? Not warmly enough?

What if he catches some disease when we're in the waiting room at the doctor's office?

He made it through all the pregnancy months safely, but what if ultrasounds missed something?

Is he getting enough to eat when he keeps falling asleep during nursing?

What if I miss seeing a car and it hits us while we're out walking?

What if I slip on a wet patch on the stairs and fall and crush him?

Cancer. Blindness. Autism. Broken limbs. Heartbreak. Accidents. Malnutrition. Isolation.

In my head, I know that even if something bad happens, God is faithful. I know that D and I are doing our best to take care of our little treasure, and that there's no way we can guard against every risk. It helps to write these worries out, because I can see them better for what they are: worries. Not facts. Not predictions. Just worries. And I'd rather spend my days thinking of all the good things that could happen, and trusting my own Father, than focusing on the scary things and trying to claim control of Pippin's safety. The one positive in all this is that I become more aware of and sympathetic to mothers (and fathers) who do have to deal with these things. There's nothing special I have done to deserve a bright-eyed, healthy little boy; the way he is is a gift, and one I don't want to take for granted.

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