Motherhood Ruined My Chill!
I used to be cool
Yesterday we were four minutes late leaving for school. As my son threw the house keys from the porch to the driveway where I waited, he yelled for the whole neighborhood to hear, “I might not have locked the door!”
Uh ok, kid. I kind of gave you the keys for a reason.
I saw him pause for beat, perhaps wondering if not locking the door was a big deal, but then he bounded down the stairs and tossed himself into the backseat, reminding me he did not want to be late so chop chop!
I could have gone back to check and put us even more behind schedule or I could spend every second of this sixteen minute round trip journey imagining exactly how my impending murder would unfold and how my sweet son would be haunted forever because he didn’t lock the door1. That upset me more than my murder!
This Anxiety That Goes to 11
It’s not your run-of-the mill, over the counter anxiety. This one is special. It’s for the Moms. Momxiety. Your mom has it. The mom who takes her kids to an outdoor preschool and churns sheep’s milk butter has it. Caroline Ingalls had it. (Doubly bad because she had seventy-four kids in a little house on a prairie.) It’s why my mom made me wake her up to say I was home after a night out— even when I was in my 30’s and visiting from across the country. It’s why I scream BE CAREFUL when my son is anywhere near a staircase. It’s why wet leaves on the basketball court, curbs, uncut grapes, merging traffic, coyotes, fentanyl, math tests, and a constant ticker of other delights keep me up at night.
Sure it’s normal to worry about your child, but how much worry is too much worry? (Great. Another thing to worry about!) It’s not just my son I worry about. I used to think it was selfish and indulgent to worry about myself, but now I’m selfish and indulgent if I don’t. Goodbye jet-skiing and that roller coaster on top of the Stratosphere! Sorry we never got to hang out!
I was six months pregnant and full of delusion. Three minutes of an infant CPR class taught Bart and I that babies were tiny, dumb saboteurs who constantly shoved small objects into their windpipes and expected their anxious, inept parents to fish them out. We left deflated, depressed, and convinced a carnival goldfish had a better chance of survival than our poor child. I killed air plants and they don’t require grapes cut into three millimeter pieces!
Were all moms afraid to be alone with their babies? (What if he cries?) Or bathe them? (What if he drowns?) Or dress them (What if his collarbone breaks?) I didn’t want to hear it was, “baby blues” and told it was, “normal.” I wanted to hear “temporary” and “fixable.” I didn’t want that person to be me. I wanted to cut my baby’s fingernails and live to tell about it.
This is not to say that dads don’t worry. They do. Just the other day Bart worried that our son was overcommitted because he had basketball practice on Tuesday and I took him sneaker shopping on Sunday.
“It’s just…a lot,” Bart said. “Are we tiger parents?”
He may be a tiger dad (he’s not), but I'm a panda mom.
I wondered if this constant panic-prophesying spiraling was a mom thing or a me thing? If I weren’t someone’s mom would I still be chill and fun to be around? So I asked Bart if any of my latest anxiety vignettes instilled fear in his little tiger heart as well.
ME: Do you ever worry about being murdered in our house because our child was too lazy to check if he locked the door correctly?
BART: Why can’t he lock the door? It’s a simple task. That to me says we have failed him. What kid his age does not know how to lock the front door? He must practice practice practice! If only he had time!
ME: When you hear a thud in the middle of the night do you immediately fear our child has fallen out of bed and will be brain dead by morning if we don’t check on him?
BART: I’ve never heard a thud in the middle of the night.
ME: Do you worry that he’s getting too worked up about video games and his friends will turn on him and he’ll be a social pariah and live in our basement forever!?
BART: I worry that you’ll do whatever you can to ensure he’ll live in our basement forever.
Fair. I worry about that too.
The results of this test are inconclusive.
But Wait There’s More?
Then one night we had a few parents over for dinner and I don’t know if it was company or maybe the Malbec, but I caved.
“I’M AFRAID MY BABY’S TOES WILL BE AMPUTATED!” I blurted out.
Bart looked at me. “You are?”
“You know,” I continued. “Because they’ll lose circulation...”
The group stayed silent, letting me continue, but clearly I said enough. The scaredy-cat was out of the bag.
And then another mother spoke.
“Hidden hairs...” She whispered.
“I read about that too!” the other mom said. “And cut eight inches off my hair.”
We smiled at that brave, righteous mom and her nice, safe hair.
Hidden hairs were terrorizing everyone, but that night they saved me. We moved on to, “Can sponge baths cause secondary drowning?” to “Can touching a baby’s soft spot cause irreparable brain damage?” to “Can a dusty house give babies botulism?” I don’t know. Maybe?
How Do We Stop The Spiraling???
You can’t. There is no cure for Momxiety, but there are ways to manage it.
Embrace It: Ain’t no party like a Momxiety party because a Momxiety party don’t stop. (Which honestly sounds horrible and exhausting and my God all those dishes...) If you’re feeling anxious about how you’re doing as a parent then you’re probably doing something right. Worrying is just your brain’s way to saying, I really love this thing so let’s, you know, keep it safe or some BS like that.
Give Yourself a Break: Know what pairs well with a good old-fashioned parenting panic attack? Nothing. As in, take a break and do nothing. Ask someone to watch your kid so you can spend a few hours at Target or send your child on a playdate so you can be alone...in your house. It’s glorious!
Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff: Your child will get a cold, a fever, a broken heart. It’s going to happen. But give yourself some credit. You’ve got this. You’ve handled your own colds, fevers, and broken hearts and lived to tell. Kids are new at this so they actually do want your guidance. And speaking of guidance— you can’t yell at other people’s kids— even if they break your kid’s heart.
Get Some Perspective: While you’re Googling secondary drowning and hidden hairs make sure you check the stats on how often these things actually happen. Here’s a hint: not often. Do you know any pinky toeless adults who fell victim to a strand of their mother’s hair? While it’s great to be alert and aware, don’t get it too twisted. (#Hiddenhairhumor.) And yes kids can still play soccer without a pinky toe.
Talk about it: Three out of four moms suffer from Momxiety. One out of four moms is a liar. Wave that fear flag like you’re Gilligan trying to grab the attention of a movie producer’s prop plane. Unlike the castaways, someone will come to your rescue.
XO,
Shelly
It’s a Binghamton Thing Pod
I had THE BEST time talking with Julie VanAtta about D&D, writing books, and growing up in Binghamton, NY and we didn’t even get to our mutual love of all things Bravo TV! Check it out here.
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
The revised Hallmark Holiday Movie Plot Generator is back! Please visit it over on my second home for internet writing, Jenny Mag. Nothing would delight me more than if you shared your movie plots with me!
Give the Gift of Raising Future Nerds
Now tell me your Hallmark holiday movie plots!
And I would forever be haunted in the afterlife because I’m SURE no one bothered to clean up my blood stains!
Ahh!! Thanks for the laughs, as always! Total anxious basketcase over here—and that was even before motherhood doubled it. Ha ha!
I’ve spent two decades trying to talk my mumxiety off the ledge and the success rate remains abysmal. It’s full-on nervous wreck fireworks when me and my daughter who has regular teenxiety on top of her autism bounce off each other, because I have to talk her off the ledge too while internally catastrophising and trying not to show it. I’m still only slightly over the time she was 8 and I called an ambulance because I was convinced she had broken her leg. The paramedic took about 4 minutes to get her skipping again. 🤦♀️ Will it ever get better?? (I was never chill to begin with but, you know, chill-ish.)