Anytime Reagan is sick...a small cold, an unexplained rash, even an injury, I get this gut-twisting, air-depriving feeling deep inside. Rationally, I know that she will probably be fine and get over whatever illness or injury is ailing her. But on some level, it's as if, every time she's sick, I'm reliving holding her in my arms and watching her heartbeat fade away. I feel that same sense of stark terror that I felt watching doctors and nurses swarm in on her and start working to keep her here with us.
I know ultimately that her life, like all of ours, is in God's hands; and I'm pretty certain He must have some BIG plans for her. But it doesn't stop me from feeling gut-wrenching panic, almost as if I'm on the verge of hysteria, every time she starts with a little sniffle.
Other moms are so calm when their little ones are sick. Oh, they'll get over it. It's just a little cold. Oh, it's just a skinned knee. Me? By the time the sniffles have turned into a full-blown cold, I've been on the phone with at least two of her doctors, given her five different medications and restricted all activities so that her wheezing doesn't start.
Paranoid? Yes. Slightly over-protective? Yes. I'm just so afraid of losing that little precious bundle that my life is completely tied to. I know other moms MUST feel at least some slight version of my panic when their children are sick, and even as I sit here with the knot growing heavier and heavier in my stomach, I know I'm being irrational. But I can't help it.
Will I end up smothering her with my over-protectiveness in the end? Probably. Will I regret it in the future? Probably not. At least I can say I did my best to keep her here and help her grow, even if she does end up resenting me and in therapy for the rest of her adult life. That's such a hard line to take, but I feel it's the only one I'm equipped to take right now. And I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to take another position...she's almost three. I'm not sure this gut-wrenching feeling will ever go away completely.