Who I Once Was

I was the one who was always relaxed, the one who didn’t worry. I was the one who said that if your four-year-old didn’t want to eat, don’t make him. He’ll eat when he gets hungry. I was the one who said if your newborn will sleep for four hours, let her. Don’t wake her to make her eat. She’ll wake when she’s hungry.

Before I had Arabella, I was a lot of things that I’m not anymore.

I am now the one who wakes up in the middle of the night and stands over the crib, anxiously awaiting movement of any sort – just enough to prove that she’s still alive. I’m the one who waits and worries because her nine-day-old daughter hasn’t had a dirty diaper in three and a half days – even though everyone says that’s normal. I look at her and study her skin tone, wondering if maybe she really is jaundiced. I watch as I feed her, fearing that she’s not getting enough and I’m inadvertently allowing her to go hungry. Uncontrollable irrationality has become a second skin.

I think this is what they mean when they say that having a child is like having your heart walking around outside of your body.