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Slow Down, You Crazy Child



I am a worrier. Always have been. It’s a curse, both to me and those who have had to learn to love me in spite of my worrisome nature. It’s a battleground for my faith. I worry about everything. Things I can control (“is the door locked?”); things I cannot control (“why are there so many starving children in this country?”). I worry about things past (“did I say something to hurt so-and-so's feelings?”), things present (“I have to finish this brief, I have to finish this brief”), and things future (“what will I do if anyone I love is ever hurt”). I worry about everything. Always.

Even as a small child my parents used to try to convince me to relax - literally sometimes telling me to breathe. I would pick my fingernails to the quick with anxiety. I don't even know what I was so worried about. I was raised in a middle-class home by two loving, God-fearing parents, with my sweet, smart sibling; I was intelligent, well-fed, and given every opportunity I ever pursued. What in the world did I have to worry about? Much like now, it's silly almost to the point of being embarrassing that I worry because I AM SO BLESSED. But, like I said, it's a curse. I worry.

Having a child has only compounded my anxiety. Now, on top of all of my pre-existing worries about life in general (family, work, health, society, you name it), I have a whole new set of daily –constant – worries centered around my little Pumpkin and her well-being. I only thought my mind never turned off before, now I know it doesn’t. Day and night I am at all times worrying about whether Pumpkin has gotten enough nutrients in a particular meal, what her next nutritious meal will be, when she will sleep and if it will be enough, whether she needs to or already has gone to the bathroom, whether she will get hurt doing whatever she is doing, whether she will wander out the back door and fall in the pool, whether she is feeling okay, whether she is happy, whether she will be happy when she is older, whether she will like me when she is older, what will she be when she is older, who will she marry when she is older. It’s constant, maddening, wasteful worry. But I can’t stop.

When Baby #2 gets here my brain just might explode; though the worries have already started (will Pumpkin love the new baby; will Pumpkin like the new baby; will the new baby be as good and sweet as Pumpkin; will I ever sleep again).

Last night I caught myself laying awake in the wee hours of the morning worrying. I was worrying about work, in part. I was also worrying because it was thundering and I was scared that either we would get hit by a tornado OR Pumpkin would wake up crying and scared (though thunder has never scared her). Neither of those happened, of course. Then I started worrying because I was tired and I was laying there wide awake worrying.

It was about that time that I realized that the worrying had to end.
I mean, who am I kidding? I was born worrying and will worry until the day I die, but the worrying has to be controlled. I need to have faith. I need to have peace. I need to have joy. I need to enjoy my Pumpkin while she is still a Pumpkin; and soon I will also need to enjoy as our new little [insert cute fruit/vegetable nickname here].

Perhaps most importantly though, I think my worrying might be rubbing off on her. I don’t want to raise a worrier. In the last week or so, I have caught her several times engaging in various play activities (none of which were dangerous) and she looks up at me with a coy little smile and says “ca-ful a-yee.” Apparently I warn her to be careful a lot. So much so that she has taken to warning herself; either that or she thinks her full name is Careful Aly.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I want her to worry about the right things in the right amount at the right time. I want her to love Jesus, work hard and get good grades, excel at her extra-curricular activities, give back to society, groom herself properly, stay fit and healthy, and hang out with the right crowd. When she is 16 and getting behind the wheel, I want her to say “Careful, Aly.” But I don’t want her to worry.

I want her know that worrying will not add one hour to her life. I want her to know that tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Mostly, I want her to know that I love her and will do anything I can for her always and that through faith, God will do the rest.

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