The twins have been sharing a cold for nearly two weeks. Last night, my oldest (who is still only three) may have had his first asthma attack. I’ve been up since that happened at 3:00 am and even now, with everyone else napping, I can’t let go.
I lay down on my bed and close my eyes just to listen to my heart race and my mind enumerate all of the terrible things that could have happened or might happen to my children, along with, of course, the litany of my own sins. Most likely unrelated but still; every time something goes wrong with my children’s health I’m convinced it is somehow my fault. Something I did or didn’t do in pregnancy, the fact that I stopped nursing the twins after only three months, that I let my oldest walk to the car without a coat last night.
I. CAN’T. LET. GO.
Of anything. Ever.
And it’s slowly killing me. Or at least driving me to drink and take more than my prescribed amount of anxiety meds.
I can’t imagine life with three kids is going to get any easier, less scary or guilt-ridden anytime soon. So somethings gotta give here, folks. I just hope it’s not my mind or my heart.
There has to be a way to make this work. People have kids, even more than three, all the time. Is it just that I’m too screwed up to be one of those people?
I don’t know. I really don’t know.