I am so scared of being an over-reactive, over-protective, coddling mother (because I loathe that type) that I worry I sometimes underestimate situations.  So when Maia started screaming last night, hard enough that she was red-faced and out of breath, in a way I haven’t heard her ever cry while I was holding her, I was surprised when my gut twisted.  My heart aches everytime she is unhappy, but to have my stomach tie itself in knots and to feel worry rise in my throat is unusual.  I trust my instincts.  They served me perfectly well during pregnancy and childbirth, and I’m not going to start doubting myself now.

I pressed a hand to her forehead and she felt fine.  She wasn’t pumping her legs as if she had gas.  She didn’t want to look at her fishie curtain, nor did the sound of running water soothe her.  I tried to nurse and she turned her head away with a shriek.  She didn’t want to be set down, and her arms tightened around me as if I were the only thing in the world that made any sense whenever I tried.

Until, that is, her knight in shining armour, her Daddy, came trundling out of the bedroom.  Sleepy-eyed, he took her from my arms, held her tight against his chest, and started “shhhh”ing as he paced the house.  I trailed behind them anxiously, seemingly completely unnoticed by either one; they were in their own little Daddy-Maia zone.  He took her into the washroom and turned on water, and she calmed down for him.  With her eyes half-closed, he tried to pass her back to me, to see if she’d nurse, but no such luck; she started to cry again as I took her.  I gave her back to him.

Within minutes, she had fallen fast asleep in his arms.  The roiling in my belly settled.  Gently, I took her into my arms, settling her weight against my shoulder.  Her breath quickened for a moment against my skin before calming again, as I “shhhh”ed her.  Chris pressed a quick kiss to my lips and, with a quiet “I love you,” returned to the bedroom.  She stayed asleep.

After I laid her down in the crib and returned to the living room for a few minutes of mommy time, I thought hard about why I had been so upset to see and hear her cry like that.  I’m certain that it’s natural to be unnerved by your infant’s cries, but I was genuinely disturbed and worried.  I suppose she was just over-tired or had worked herself into a frenzy by not being soothed quickly enough, but why had none of our usual soothing techniques worked?  I appreciate that having Daddy hold her did the trick, yet I worry about what I would have done had he been at work.

I don’t want to be one of those moms who drags her kids into a doctor’s office whenever something even vaguely unusual happens, then shoves her kid full of medication to “fix” whatever is “wrong”, even if it’s just a mood swing.  It scares me.  And I realized that it’s probably the one true fear I have of parenting.  I don’t want to be so concerned with not overreacting that I end up willfully ignorant of signs that something is wrong.

So last night, although Maia was clearly alright, bothers me.  I don’t understand why.  I just keep thinking of how that panic seized me, but I WAS WRONG.  I have to trust myself when it comes to my baby, but I.  Was.  Wrong.

That’s hard to swallow.
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