I have moved a lot. And until last Saturday, when we officially arrived in Utah, I thought I was really good at it. Now I know the truth. My single self (I mean pre-child, not pre-Brett) was great at moving. My mother self...not so much.
I suppose I was technically a mother when we moved from Beijing to Kentucky at 8-months pregnant, but we all know that little ones are far easier to care for when they are trapped in the womb. Other than my fears for her safety (and my own) on the 14-hour flight, I was relatively calm and collected through the entire process of our international move. Naively, I thought that our move west would be just like all the other moves before it. It isn't. I am a real mother now.
I do not mean to imply that are not happy with our decision to move to Salt Lake City. Nor do I mean to say that we were not completely blessed in the ease of getting here. On the contrary, we are excited for this new adventure and we are grateful for all of the help and support we have received along the way. That said, I have entered into a new territory for me, and it is called worry.
You see, "Momo" (my wonderful mother) always seemed to take care of the worry for me. One might say that she did enough of it for the both of us. I let her take the lead and found other ways to occupy my time, Bipolar anyone? (kidding!) Turns out, I don't like worry. I hate it in fact. Whoever said worry was a useless emotion might be the smartest person ever. I feel like worry is running through my veins. I am consumed with them, but none of them are about Brett or me. They center entirely around Olive (a bit silly as she is the likely the most resilient of the 3 of us!) Even so, I can't help but think:
- Will her new teacher's love her as much?
-Will she survive "Momo" separation?
-Will her eczema get worse in the dry climate?
-Will I find a pediatrician?
-Will kids in her class be sweet to her?
-Will she get whooping cough? (extra stupid worry as she has been vaccinated)
-Will people make fun of her bows & smocked dresses? (also stupid)
-Will we find a church?
-Will we find a babysitter?
-Will she be happy here?
How do I make it stop!? I know the answer. The answer is prayer, but I swear I am so overwhelmed with the worry that when I pray about it, I just end up worrying more. Last night I went to bed at 8PM - most likely because the worry is so damn exhausting. (Oops - prayer and damn in the same sentence).
Perhaps if worry wasn't such new territory for me, then I would know what to do. My brain tells me that balloons, bubbles, and Princess Sofia dolls will solve all of Olive's problems at this stage of her life, but my heart isn't quite so sure.
Any tips, mamas?
Please note, comments must be approved before they are published