Pediatricians rock.
In case any of you medical types are concerned about those stomach aches, Dutch has very regular and healthy pooping habits, so you can pretty much cross out the constipation explanation. Of course, if I find out she's got some sort of awful medical condition (stomach cancer?), I'm going to feel totally terrible about blaming her aches on anxiety. But I have found, since becoming a parent, that there IS actually a limit to how much one person can worry.
Last night I talked to some friends about how much we worry about our kids, from the moment they're conceived, and how hard it sometimes is to let them live their lives. I have moments every day when I watch Dutch blithely doing something very mildly risky (like skipping quickly across a driveway entrance on the sidewalk, ten feet ahead of me*) and I imagine the Worst Case Scenario (giant car hurtles around the corner and into the driveway, mowing her down and crushing her little head!), and I want to make her wear a helmet (with flashing lights on it) and knee pads and elbow pads and walk quietly by my side forever. I'm pretty sure that would be bad for everyone's mental health, though, so I'm holding off.
I've been lucky in that Dutch, in spite of being apparently somewhat accident-prone, is cautious and risk-averse, like both her parents. I've seen and heard stories of some kids** who seem determined to take every risk in sight. When I babysat a friend's kid for the first time, she warned me about the difference between our daughters - she'd seen me get Dutch (aged two) out of a car, put her down on the sidewalk, and then turn back to rummage around in the car for a minute, while Dutch poked around unmonitored. "You can't do that with My Kid!" she said, which was an entirely justified warning. Dutch has never been a running-out-in-the-street kid, but I still worry about the cars coming off the street to get her,*** and of course, she still gets emotionally and physically hurt. I look at her, and I KNOW that she's going to get hurt. Bad things (chronic illness, acute injuries, heartbreak) are going to happen to her, and there's nothing I can do about it. And this baby, who likes more than anything else to brace its butt under my ribs on the right side and tuck its feet up under my ribs on the left side and do Uterine Leg Presses ALL DAY LONG, this baby is going to get hurt, too. It's a good thing I'm not having eight babies; I think worrying about that many kids would maybe push me over that limit I mentioned.
*I SAID "mildly"!
** Ezekiel, Maisy, and Katherine, I'm looking at YOU!
***She's most worried about the owls and the foxes coming into her bedroom to carry her away, but that's actually fairly low down on my list of Stuff To Worry About.
Last night I talked to some friends about how much we worry about our kids, from the moment they're conceived, and how hard it sometimes is to let them live their lives. I have moments every day when I watch Dutch blithely doing something very mildly risky (like skipping quickly across a driveway entrance on the sidewalk, ten feet ahead of me*) and I imagine the Worst Case Scenario (giant car hurtles around the corner and into the driveway, mowing her down and crushing her little head!), and I want to make her wear a helmet (with flashing lights on it) and knee pads and elbow pads and walk quietly by my side forever. I'm pretty sure that would be bad for everyone's mental health, though, so I'm holding off.
I've been lucky in that Dutch, in spite of being apparently somewhat accident-prone, is cautious and risk-averse, like both her parents. I've seen and heard stories of some kids** who seem determined to take every risk in sight. When I babysat a friend's kid for the first time, she warned me about the difference between our daughters - she'd seen me get Dutch (aged two) out of a car, put her down on the sidewalk, and then turn back to rummage around in the car for a minute, while Dutch poked around unmonitored. "You can't do that with My Kid!" she said, which was an entirely justified warning. Dutch has never been a running-out-in-the-street kid, but I still worry about the cars coming off the street to get her,*** and of course, she still gets emotionally and physically hurt. I look at her, and I KNOW that she's going to get hurt. Bad things (chronic illness, acute injuries, heartbreak) are going to happen to her, and there's nothing I can do about it. And this baby, who likes more than anything else to brace its butt under my ribs on the right side and tuck its feet up under my ribs on the left side and do Uterine Leg Presses ALL DAY LONG, this baby is going to get hurt, too. It's a good thing I'm not having eight babies; I think worrying about that many kids would maybe push me over that limit I mentioned.
*I SAID "mildly"!
** Ezekiel, Maisy, and Katherine, I'm looking at YOU!
***She's most worried about the owls and the foxes coming into her bedroom to carry her away, but that's actually fairly low down on my list of Stuff To Worry About.
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