Day 570: Late night confessions

I would like to be someone who takes things in stride; someone who sees the big picture and understands the journey. I would like to be a mother who does these things. Those mothers exist, don't they? I see them out there, talking lovingly to their toddlers as they kick and cry on the floor of Toys R Us. They're not panicked, they're not overwhelmed, they're not covered in the sheen of a cold sweat. How do I become one of them?

But really I don't have time to become one of them because I am far too busy worrying to concern myself with anything else. I don't know when I started down the path to near-obsessive worry-dom, but the transition seems to be complete. And let me tell you, it's exhausting. It's never-ending, self-inflicted, utterly pointless mental anguish. I read a quote once that said something along the lines of, the job of a parent is to prepare a child to live in the world without her. I think I took it too literally. Every second seems crammed with meaning. I should be teaching, encouraging, disciplining. What if I forget something? What if I've already forgotten something? I vaguely recall what it feels like to have a head that is clear, that is quiet, but it's a very distant memory.

I sometimes wonder, though, if this is just part of motherhood? If this is something that all mothers feel to some extent, and I feel it slightly more because - well, let's face it, I was a bit neurotic to begin with. And then I worry that I spend too much time trying to figure out what it means to be a mom instead of just being one.

In case you're wondering, or hoping for resolution, I'm not going anywhere in particular with any of this. It's midnight, I'm still awake, and just emptying my head of all its doubt and craziness for your reading enjoyment.

And now I think I'll go to bed. Good night!