Kid Fears

Some days I seem to wake up at the end of my rope.
Or it doesn't take me long to get there.


Some days I can't seem to stop the tears from flowing.
So I let them flow.
Some days I am impatient and irritable.
On those days I could probably be more forgiving and less hard on myself.
Some days things don't feel like they are flowing.
On those days I have to just surrender completely and ask for help.
I'm gaining a lot of experience in asking for help - from God, from Dave, from family and friends.

Most days lately I feel reclusive and not very social.
My energy for conversation is limited, and usually I only feel like talking to all of three people in my life.
I've marveled that this is the first really hard life challenge during which I haven't sought the help of a therapist.
Mostly it's because I don't feel like talking; talking feels tiring.
So I write, and when I do need to talk, my sweet patient present husband is there.
And my sister and a few very close friends.

I so appreciate all who reach out to me, check in.
Thank you for understanding my limitations in this time.

Fear is present in our house.
I can't speak for Dave, who seems to encounter fear much differently than me.
But I would venture to say that Dahlia's emotional make-up is similar to mine.
She has been waking up several times a night for several weeks now, telling us, "I'm scared."
She can't say exactly what it is she's scared of, but she is aware of every bump and sound in the night, every glimmer of light or movement, every little feeling in her body.
The movement in our house when the street car goes by.
The distant sound of the fog horn out at sea.
The orange lit light switch in the foyer.
Static from the turned off TV.

I can relate to feeling like my nerve endings are right at the surface, feeling everything, unable to turn off even during sleep.
And she is having a lot of dreams, as am I, as is Dave.

In the middle of the night when we've been woken up by our frightened child one too many times, Dave and I are definitely not at our most patient or compassionate.
But we need to be.
Otherwise it becomes a battle of wills, and Dahlia's will is strong and unrelenting.
She is truly scared, and she does not want to go back to sleep in her room, alone.
She wants to come in our bed and be in the safety of the warmth of our bodies around her.
I really can't blame her.
And I recognize that as long as that need is not met, she is going to continue having it, and feeling fear.
So for her tired parents, it's time to surrender to the kicks (she loves to kick Dave in her sleep) or waking up with a cramp in my neck or my side from trying to sleep with my huge belly, an aching back, and a four year old nuzzling up to me, wanting to share my big maternity pillow.
It's really the only way any of us is going to get any rest, and we definitely need our rest.
And it's what our child needs, which makes it what our family needs.

This morning I suggested we switch Dahlia's furniture around, changing up the energy and perhaps refining the feng shui at the same time.
Now her bed touches the wall of our bedroom, and perhaps that will help.
If nothing else, it might help her psychologically to feel a little closer to us during those first hours of the night when she is willing to at least start by sleeping in her bed.
I also opened the windows in both bedrooms to clear out the angry, frustrated, fearful energy of last night, and let in the crisp warm cleansing air of the ocean.

Now Dahlia is at school, Dave is at work, and the house is quiet.
I feel tired, and my back is already hurting.

Thankfully, I have no UCSF appointments today - they are getting tiring and more plentiful now that I have weekly antenatal testing along with bi-weekly OB appointments and monthly ultrasounds.
And they always keep me waiting, sometimes up to an hour - last time I was there I let them know that I felt like my time wasn't being valued, and that there is no reason it shouldn't be considered as valuable as the doctor's.
Rest assured I will keep reminding them of that, even if it doesn't make a difference.
I've had good experiences there overall, appreciate all the care they are giving Tikva and me, and recognize that this is the main reason we changed our lives to return to SF.
Yet I still find the hierarchy of doctor to patient challenging, and a big flaw in our medical system.

I am feeling the "shoulds" pulling me to do work for my psychology class, which I really want to finish before Tikva arrives.
It feels like a huge pain in my tush, something I have about 0% motivation to do.
But I am more than halfway through, and I've already put a lot of work into it.
It just would feel stupid to not finish it - in the long run I know I'll be glad I did.
Life isn't going to get any easier - in 36 years I've learned that it's more of an ebb and flow than a "get through the hard stuff so you can enjoy the easy stuff."
If I do continue working towards nursing school, it's unlikely that doing so will be easier later than it is now.
So I might as well finish the class and be one class closer to doing so.
But boy, I really have no juice for it at all.
What I really want to do is go back to sleep for a few hours and rest my hard working back.

At one point last night, Dahlia said, "I'm scared" for the millionth time and I just started crying and couldn't stop.
It was as if she had said it enough times to truly express all the fears I am feeling.
All the fears all around her that she must be internalizing, along with her own fears.
I wanted to cry out, "I'm scared too. So scared."
I flashed on the night Dahlia was born, just a few hours after I had pushed her out, when we brought her home from the hospital and the three of us were lying in bed.
I looked at this tiny little thing I had carried inside me for 9.5 months and thought, "I will do anything for you, anything, always."
Thinking about that moment last night, realizing that I was not living up to my word in that moment of frustration, I just couldn't stop crying.
And I thought of Tikva, and imagined the moment we will be able to bring her home into our bed.
Waves of fear came through me, prayers that we will get to live that moment.
Visions of moving Dahlia's mattress into our room so that all four of us can sleep together, next to each other.
Forever, if that's what these two girls need.

I will do anything for you, anything, always.

God, it's so unbelievably terrifying to think that there really is no way I will always be able to protect my children.
Already, so much of what Tikva will need is completely out of my hands.
As long as she is inside me, I can do my best to protect her - breathe for her, eat good food for her, take in fresh air for her.
Beyond that - and with Dahlia too - the most I can know that I will always be able to do is love them, unconditionally.
I can't even promise that I will always be patient, always be calm, always be 100% focused and present.
But I can try my best and acknowledge, even to them, my humanity.
I can feel comfortable saying I'm sorry to them when I make a mistake.
I can let go of the idea that I can parent perfectly, always.

I can drop into the surrender of being held - as I reminded Dahlia last night - in God's palm.