That I would reach a point in my life where I would concerned about eating habits of someone other than myself. How much and when. What kind, and where it came from. This bottle verses that one. I am now consumed with concern about the length of time between bowel movements. Not mine, hers. I am concerned about the color, is it normal, is it not? I spend anxious hours thinking about why she is crying. I spend obscene amounts of time googling things like "acid reflux in babies" and "colic". I worry that I created a high maintenance baby that we can never put down and will have to constantly entertain, and that she will never sleep more than four hours in a row. I worry that she will scream the entire day when I go back to work creating a situation where no one will want to babysit her, and that she will never take a bottle, thus being hungry ALL DAY.
I have never been a person who had anxiety. I guess with the baby, came the worry. Boy, is she worth it. She is blissful. She is timelessly beautiful. I want to forever remember the sound of her cooing, and the sound of her sneezes. I love how she sneezes multiple times in a row. Just like me. At least something she is does is like me... I have admitted defeat... She looks exactly like her dad.
I worry, there for I am a Mom.
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