After nearly three years of taking anti-anxiety medication, I've come to the realization that the drug companies who manufacture these delightful little happy pills are conspiring with experts everywhere to make new mothers crazy. The assault usually begins at that first obstetric appointment, where the doctor gives the latest mommy-to-be a list of "suggestions" to keep her little embryo safe:
"Don't lay on your back. Don't take hot baths. Don't eat tuna. While you're at it, stay away from lunch meat and cheese. Hot dogs, too. Don't drink caffeine. Watch out for aspartame. Don't forget to take your pre-natal vitamins. And don't forget to eat lots of spinach - you need the folic acid!"
Of course, having lost three pregnancies prior to Ella, I freaked out every time I rolled over in my sleep and woke up on my back. I never took more than a lukewarm shower, and since I couldn't keep anything down, I didn't eat anything on the list of forbidden foods. Of course, since I couldn't keep anything down, I also opted not to swallow those pre-natals, and I confess that not one piece of spinach ever crossed my lips.
To make up for my dietary neglect, I decided to train for a "natural" childbirth. (There are a lot of experts - conspirators - who argue that epidurals are bad for both mom and baby.) I should have known better, but in the end my husband and I attended a twelve week marathon of birthing classes, where we were scarred by slightly pornographic birthing videos and frowned upon for eating meat. All the while, I was consumed with "kick-counts" and weight gain. By the end of that agonizing nine months, I was ready to hold my baby girl in my arms, and know for sure that she was safe.
Of course, once she arrived (after 21 hours of agonizing, drug-free labor), I received a whole new list of "suggestions" from my pediatrician:
"Don't let her sleep on her tummy, but make sure she has plenty of tummy time; we don't want her to get a flat head. Are you nursing? Breast-milk is best. But make sure your baby is getting enough to eat. Don't ever leave her alone, because she can roll over. Of course, make sure she's rolling over by six months. Have you childproofed your house yet? Here's the number for the Poison Control Hotline if you haven't. I also suggest you get a fire extinguisher."
It turns out that Ella was a whole lot safer while I was pregnant. Now that she was out, I realized that all kinds of horrible things could happen to her. Sleep was out of the question. (It was out of the question anyway, because she cried all the time.) But now I had to worry that something was wrong if she stopped crying. What if she wasn't eating enough? What if she got dehydrated? What about SIDS? What about fires, floods, wars and pestilence? In my post-partum haze, it was too much to handle.
"Don't lay on your back. Don't take hot baths. Don't eat tuna. While you're at it, stay away from lunch meat and cheese. Hot dogs, too. Don't drink caffeine. Watch out for aspartame. Don't forget to take your pre-natal vitamins. And don't forget to eat lots of spinach - you need the folic acid!"
Of course, having lost three pregnancies prior to Ella, I freaked out every time I rolled over in my sleep and woke up on my back. I never took more than a lukewarm shower, and since I couldn't keep anything down, I didn't eat anything on the list of forbidden foods. Of course, since I couldn't keep anything down, I also opted not to swallow those pre-natals, and I confess that not one piece of spinach ever crossed my lips.
To make up for my dietary neglect, I decided to train for a "natural" childbirth. (There are a lot of experts - conspirators - who argue that epidurals are bad for both mom and baby.) I should have known better, but in the end my husband and I attended a twelve week marathon of birthing classes, where we were scarred by slightly pornographic birthing videos and frowned upon for eating meat. All the while, I was consumed with "kick-counts" and weight gain. By the end of that agonizing nine months, I was ready to hold my baby girl in my arms, and know for sure that she was safe.
Of course, once she arrived (after 21 hours of agonizing, drug-free labor), I received a whole new list of "suggestions" from my pediatrician:
"Don't let her sleep on her tummy, but make sure she has plenty of tummy time; we don't want her to get a flat head. Are you nursing? Breast-milk is best. But make sure your baby is getting enough to eat. Don't ever leave her alone, because she can roll over. Of course, make sure she's rolling over by six months. Have you childproofed your house yet? Here's the number for the Poison Control Hotline if you haven't. I also suggest you get a fire extinguisher."
It turns out that Ella was a whole lot safer while I was pregnant. Now that she was out, I realized that all kinds of horrible things could happen to her. Sleep was out of the question. (It was out of the question anyway, because she cried all the time.) But now I had to worry that something was wrong if she stopped crying. What if she wasn't eating enough? What if she got dehydrated? What about SIDS? What about fires, floods, wars and pestilence? In my post-partum haze, it was too much to handle.
Of course, I eventually calmed down. The happy pills helped to dull that sharp edge of fear. But I am periodically reminded that, even present, I can't always keep my children safe from harm. Like the time I locked Ella in the car, and the fire department had to come and rescue her. Or like a week later when, after delivering cookies to those kind firemen, I locked her in the car again. Or when I caught one of the twins sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, licking some questionable food off her fingers. Or even this past week when, going out to get the mail, I turned around just in time to see Emily and Evie standing on their second-story window sill with their faces squashed up against the glass like bugs on a windshield.The truth is, short of locking my kids in a bubble-wrapped room, there is nothing I can do to protect them from the things that might, or could, happen to them. And even though swallowing a little pill every morning has calmed some of my anxiety, it can't erase the realization that bad things can happen. My ultimate comfort, then, comes only from God, Who is using motherhood to teach me a awful lot about surrender: surrendering myself to His will; surrendering my children to His plan; surrendering my time to prayer and to the study of His word; surrendering my fears to His great and loving faithfulness. Though it's hard to believe, God loves my kids even more than I do. And even though it feels like I am surrendering an awful lot to Him, I am reminded even now that He surrendered His Son not only for me, but for those little ones I hold so tightly. Surely I can cast my fears upon the Lord, because He alone is my Rock and my Fortress!
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