My daughter is wonderful. She really is. Even on days like today, when everything possible has gone wrong–she wouldn’t sleep, she went through a million messy diapers (including one where she seemed to mistake my husband’s UK football shirt for a clean diaper), she threw up a lot, she developed a wheezy breathing pattern, and we ended up at the pediatrician’s office with me sobbing outside the lab door where my husband was holding on to her tiny arms so she could be x-rayed.
Thankfully, nothing really turned out to be wrong with her, but what I discovered today is just how panicky being a parent can make a normally sane person. Only this morning, my husband was commenting on how cool and calm I was about changing her diaper fifteen times, and how she wouldn’t eat. I felt calm and collected too, and then mere hours later I turned into a basket case, and I still haven’t really recovered from it. I start crying again every time I think about my tiny little girl on the cold table surrounded by giant machines. She’s just so small. And she depends on us for everything, and although it’s totally unreasonable, and we did the responsible thing by taking her in, it’s hard not to feel like we let her down.
She’s so wonderful, and I want to do everything right for her. But I keep remembering what my grandmother told me when she came to see me in the hospital: You want to do everything perfectly for your kids. But then you mess it up, and you have to figure out what to do with that.