After I graduated from college, aged 22 years, I moved to Riga, Latvia. An English-language newspaper (really more of a newsletter to emigres) had offered me a job. It paid next to nothing but did offer housing, so off I went. I bought a plane ticket and I left the country *snap* just like that.
In Latvia I met the most interesting people. Everyone seemed so daring. One young man had travelled from Latvia to Istanbul by plane, then came back up by train and bus; I met him in a cafe and made him tell me all his stories. At the end of the evening he offered me his hand-drawn map of Istanbul and encouraged me to take the same trip. So I did. With a backpack, a passport and very little knowledge of Turkey, off I went *snap* just like that.
You might say that I was careless. That I was naive, unforgivably innocent, much too trusting. And you'd be right ... but nothing particularly horrifying happened to me. I had a wonderful time. I grew up.
I kept that sense of daring after returning to the US. I learned to mountain bike; I learned to snowboard; I married; I finagled my way into jobs that I was completely unqualified for. I talked to strangers. I had a wonderful time.
Then. Then I got pregnant, and everything changed. I grew fearful. When I was pregnant, I wouldn't stand beside a microwave. I wouldn't consume anything containing alcohol, caffeine, unpasteurized milk (eg soft cheeses), beef, pork or raw fish. I stopped riding my bike and I certainly stopped snowboarding. I drove less. And I wanted never, ever to be more than 10 miles from a hospital.
After my baby was born I was always anxious. I think I was just a little crazy. I tried never to turn my back on my baby, even when he was sleeping. Babies die in cribs, you know! I used to put him in the bouncy seat in the bathroom and shower with the curtain part-way open, so I could see him. Once I dropped the phone on his head (from a distance of about six inches) and I kept him awake for hours to be sure he didn't have a concussion. Eventually -- after about six, eight months -- I realized that my excessive carefulness was actually creating problems, especially sleep problems, and I tried to relax.
But I'm still filled with anxiety. I think some of the other parents in my neighborhood consider me too laissez faire because I give my kids a long leash; but every second that I am responsible for those children, they weigh on me. It's an endless conversation I have with myself. Blake climbed up that ladder. He's probably OK. It's stable. He's only on the third rung. If he goes higher, I'll... Blake played with that marble toy; did he leave marbles where Sasha can get them? Maybe she won't eat them. Oh of course she will, I'd better find them all... If I go to the bathroom while Sasha's in her highchair, will she try to climb out? She's entranced by that movie. Maybe if I leave the door open, I can hear what she's doing... All day long I think these thoughts. If I can't see the kids, you can be damn sure I can hear them, and have a good idea what they're doing. Even if Blake has ridden his bike down to the park. Even if Sasha has wandered onto the neighbor's porch. I know where they are and I'm silently calculating whether (or how badly) they can get hurt in that activity, and whether it's worth the risk.
Andrea from Beanie Baby questioned why we, as parents, feel that the world is less safe than it used to be, when clearly it is not. She concluded (if I read correctly) that we feel more responsible for our children's safety than parents did in the past -- we feel that every bump and bruise is our fault -- and so while the world is safer, our culpability is greater, and that's the main source of our anxiety.
Certainly I feel that way. I take responsibility for what goes wrong with them, but don't take credit for what goes right.
And I was never, ever anxious or stressed before I had children. Not even during finals week. Not even when I arrived in Rila, Bulgaria at 10pm with no hotel reservations. Now I'm anxious just about every second of the day. I try to let my kids be free, to take their chances with the world; but I'm anxious for them.
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When my daughter was learning to stand up, we went on vacation with some extended family, to Sea Ranch, CA. I don't know if you've ever been there--it's waaaaaay up Rte. 1 on the Northern California coast.
On our second day there, my daughter pulled herself up on the coffee table, then fell over, smacking her forehead on the corner. In an instant, there was an inch-and-a-half wide goose egg developing. We spent the next three hours convinced she had a concussion, and wondering if we needed to get a LifeFlight helicopter, while my in-laws assured us that she would be fine.
The best part was, no one even made fun of us (though we were clearly off our rockers).
I've eased up on the stress of injury now, and my kids have helped me along by having a gajillion injuries.
That's part of it--the other part is that we are constantly surrounded by messages of danger and violence in the media. (I saw one stat that while crime overall is down 10% since the 70s, media reporting of crime is up 600%--no wonder we're freaked out!) Even if you know things are safer, it's hard to really believe it and act that way when all you hear is 'danger danger danger danger'. And trust me, I'm not immune. I am much, much more anxious and easier to scare now that I'm a mother.
When I'm home with her on a weekday, for instance, I go to check the mail when she's napping. The mailbox is just on the end of our street; it's a five-to-seven-minute round trip. She's asleep, she's in her crib, she's safe, right? But for that five-to-seven-minute round trip I am always, always filled with anxiety. What could happen when I'm not there?
The important thing to me is that I make myself go. I make myself do what I believe is reasonable even if it is hard. I don't know if it makes sense or not, but I think it's a good approach for me.
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