This post has started and stopped so many times over the years. I just went through the most recent drafts of this blog, and several, even when titled differently, could all be categorized or generalized under this topic: fear. It's what drives my parenting style, my anxiety, my daily routines, even my ability to sleep (or not).
Back in December 2016 (memories!), on the drive home from daycare P started asking the question, "We going home tonight, Mama?" Of course, the answer is 99% of the time yes (the other 1% being a random errand on the way home or a spontaneous visit elsewhere, but still then, yes because we'll be home afterward). And yet, when answering him, fear would grip my heart and I'd have this bone-chilling downward spiraling mental crisis of "oh my god, what if we don't make it home tonight? What if we get in to a car accident and I'm killed or P's killed?" It is so incredibly hard to choke down the fear as if it isn't there, and smile and move on like all is wonderful in the world. I don't even know at what age I could start acknowledging outwardly to P to nothing in life is guaranteed. It'll happen at some age, but even now I can't go over that thought process with him. I can't break his heart and possibly shatter his world just because mine is breaking on a daily basis. Once your world has been shattered by tragedy, life always feels as if it's about to end.
Not long after this started I had this gut-wrenching nightmare about losing P. Ryan, P, and I were running up a hill rushing to get somewhere, maybe to a car. And we went just around a corner. Of course being so little, P was slower and go behind. Ryan and I turn around, and P's gone. Not just lagging behind, but completely disappeared, gone. The panic that enveloped me in the nightmare woke me from my sleep and left me shaking.
Now, many people have a nightmare, think about how odd and scary it was, and then shrug it off. I can't just shrug off nightmares about loss. Especially after losing Korbin. It's not the loss itself, really, but the fact that I had a nightmare at about 18weeks with Korbin that he was suddenly being surgically removed from my body too soon. Ya, six weeks later that happened. In real life. I was so terrified at 18weeks, but everyone around me said it was just a nightmare. It means I'm connecting with my child. Mine meant more. Unfortunately. I don't take nightmares lightly.
Needless to say, P doesn't leave my sight or go out of earshot. If I'm taking a shower upstairs, he has to be upstairs playing in his room and I have to be able to hear his toys or I panic. Because what if someone comes to the door and he unlocks it and is gone just like that?? There are so many possible ways to lose him, an insane amount of what ifs in life that instill fear on a daily basis. It makes it hard to drop him off at daycare and trust that, even though he's with family, he'll be alive and there when we go to pick him up. It's hard to trust that when he stays the night at a grandparents that he won't suddenly jump in to a nearby pond or fall off a rock ledge (why are kids so reckless and fearless?! no wonder I have white hairs already), or get shot. And on the flip side, the thought of him losing Ryan or myself grips me, too. He still doesn't fully understand death. What if he asks for me after I die and Ryan literally can't bring me to him to soothe him? God it's so heart wrenching. And it happens. I've become desperate to insure that it doesn't happen. I'm now so risk adverse I've lost my spontaneity in life, I don't take leaps. Everything is crazy calculated and judged to be sure it is the best and safest move possible so as not to disrupt what bit of harmony exists right now.
This seriously has altered my perception of parenting, and most definitely my parenting style. On the one hand, I'm strict in where he can be and who he can be with. And on the other I'm so lenient because I just want him to feel the most joy possible all the time. I'm strict from paranoia yet lenient from wanting him to feel so incredibly loved and cherished always. It's exhausting, and Ryan and I disagree often on how to handle discipline because of this. P is so innocent, and yet is also a four year old now who knows how to manipulate me to get what he wants. And because I'm so afraid we're about to die, I don't want our last moments together to be strained. One may think, but living life always on the positive side is the best way. Except when raising a child, boundaries are important and need to be adhered to for development and understanding during growth and maturation. It's a difficult balance to master, and I have yet to master it!
My risk aversion has also impacted what brings me joy. We used to drive cars a lot and do silly (read: stupid) things in them. Now I panic going barely over the speed limit let alone cutting through traffic. I used to LOVE horror movies, especially the ones that mess with your mind and make you think. Now I can't even watch Home Alone 2 as the panic starts to set in from the get go as Kevin's parents run away from him at the airport and he gets separated from them completely. I had to stop watching the movie despite knowing the sappy happy ending already from watching it so many times before.
I used to think I knew exhaustion and the need for coffee to get me through each day. I had no fucking clue. Becoming a loss parent has changed me. Becoming a parent has changed me. Thank goodness for therapy and caffeine. And chocolate. And most importantly, for getting to have the presence of P in our lives after losing Korbin. The balance is in there somewhere. Some days I even feel like I nailed it.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Back in December 2016 (memories!), on the drive home from daycare P started asking the question, "We going home tonight, Mama?" Of course, the answer is 99% of the time yes (the other 1% being a random errand on the way home or a spontaneous visit elsewhere, but still then, yes because we'll be home afterward). And yet, when answering him, fear would grip my heart and I'd have this bone-chilling downward spiraling mental crisis of "oh my god, what if we don't make it home tonight? What if we get in to a car accident and I'm killed or P's killed?" It is so incredibly hard to choke down the fear as if it isn't there, and smile and move on like all is wonderful in the world. I don't even know at what age I could start acknowledging outwardly to P to nothing in life is guaranteed. It'll happen at some age, but even now I can't go over that thought process with him. I can't break his heart and possibly shatter his world just because mine is breaking on a daily basis. Once your world has been shattered by tragedy, life always feels as if it's about to end.
Not long after this started I had this gut-wrenching nightmare about losing P. Ryan, P, and I were running up a hill rushing to get somewhere, maybe to a car. And we went just around a corner. Of course being so little, P was slower and go behind. Ryan and I turn around, and P's gone. Not just lagging behind, but completely disappeared, gone. The panic that enveloped me in the nightmare woke me from my sleep and left me shaking.
Now, many people have a nightmare, think about how odd and scary it was, and then shrug it off. I can't just shrug off nightmares about loss. Especially after losing Korbin. It's not the loss itself, really, but the fact that I had a nightmare at about 18weeks with Korbin that he was suddenly being surgically removed from my body too soon. Ya, six weeks later that happened. In real life. I was so terrified at 18weeks, but everyone around me said it was just a nightmare. It means I'm connecting with my child. Mine meant more. Unfortunately. I don't take nightmares lightly.
Needless to say, P doesn't leave my sight or go out of earshot. If I'm taking a shower upstairs, he has to be upstairs playing in his room and I have to be able to hear his toys or I panic. Because what if someone comes to the door and he unlocks it and is gone just like that?? There are so many possible ways to lose him, an insane amount of what ifs in life that instill fear on a daily basis. It makes it hard to drop him off at daycare and trust that, even though he's with family, he'll be alive and there when we go to pick him up. It's hard to trust that when he stays the night at a grandparents that he won't suddenly jump in to a nearby pond or fall off a rock ledge (why are kids so reckless and fearless?! no wonder I have white hairs already), or get shot. And on the flip side, the thought of him losing Ryan or myself grips me, too. He still doesn't fully understand death. What if he asks for me after I die and Ryan literally can't bring me to him to soothe him? God it's so heart wrenching. And it happens. I've become desperate to insure that it doesn't happen. I'm now so risk adverse I've lost my spontaneity in life, I don't take leaps. Everything is crazy calculated and judged to be sure it is the best and safest move possible so as not to disrupt what bit of harmony exists right now.
This seriously has altered my perception of parenting, and most definitely my parenting style. On the one hand, I'm strict in where he can be and who he can be with. And on the other I'm so lenient because I just want him to feel the most joy possible all the time. I'm strict from paranoia yet lenient from wanting him to feel so incredibly loved and cherished always. It's exhausting, and Ryan and I disagree often on how to handle discipline because of this. P is so innocent, and yet is also a four year old now who knows how to manipulate me to get what he wants. And because I'm so afraid we're about to die, I don't want our last moments together to be strained. One may think, but living life always on the positive side is the best way. Except when raising a child, boundaries are important and need to be adhered to for development and understanding during growth and maturation. It's a difficult balance to master, and I have yet to master it!
My risk aversion has also impacted what brings me joy. We used to drive cars a lot and do silly (read: stupid) things in them. Now I panic going barely over the speed limit let alone cutting through traffic. I used to LOVE horror movies, especially the ones that mess with your mind and make you think. Now I can't even watch Home Alone 2 as the panic starts to set in from the get go as Kevin's parents run away from him at the airport and he gets separated from them completely. I had to stop watching the movie despite knowing the sappy happy ending already from watching it so many times before.
I used to think I knew exhaustion and the need for coffee to get me through each day. I had no fucking clue. Becoming a loss parent has changed me. Becoming a parent has changed me. Thank goodness for therapy and caffeine. And chocolate. And most importantly, for getting to have the presence of P in our lives after losing Korbin. The balance is in there somewhere. Some days I even feel like I nailed it.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
