Those freak outs are normal, and mostly just seem to scar the parents for life.
I was told by people my age now, back when my kids were your kid’s age, that although their kids were ostensibly grown, the worry and the work never stopped. Now that I’ve made it to the after-college promised land, here are some notes from the other side:
1) BullE36 M3 on the “you’re always a parent it never stops.” Yes, you’re always a parent, yes, your job is ongoing and yes, you always worry, but that is a far cry from a 24/7 job of keeping alive and happy a fragile human being with zero communication skills. That is harder. That is a different job. That is jets while the later stuff is kite flying.
2) Aside from the physical demands of your current stage, the rest is mostly a mind berkeley. Small children are looking for super basic things—but they need those basic things in such a mind-blowingly constant, consistent, seemingly forever manner that worrying about things like the deeper messages you’re sending with your nightly cage match over bedtime (which is. It just is. You’re not bad, they’re not bad, it’s just where you are and it will pass) seem like an attractive way to expend your mental energy. Really, just be there. Same bat time, same bat channel, every day, every thing. Add inputs slowly like you’re driving on ice.
3) You will miss stuff. Your attention will flag. Your diagnosis will be mistaken. You may send them to school with broken limbs, you may fail to notice real emotional anguish that you thought was tiredness or a bad dinner. You will suck. If you’re lucky, no lasting damage will result.
4) Years from now, you will barely remember this constant flipping from sweetest happiness to abject fear and misery. If someone reminds you, it will bring you a painful joy that you had and lost—a beatific hurt that I have yet to see anyone adequately describe, but that ties together all parents (and is, I understand, somewhat soothed by grandchildren).
Good luck with where you are now. It’s life at its dirtiest, lifeiest self. Something of you will survive it, but you will be forever changed—mostly for the better. Those who have been through it are all pulling for you always—it’s why you meet those people in grocery stores and restaurants who seem to offer a napkin, a smile, a shoulder and a kind word at just the right time.
And at the end of the day, do remember: Those freaks in WalMart are actually keeping their kids alive, and even the biggest losers there use a cup and a real potty. As Jeff Goldblum said, life finds a way.
Margie
and edit: Sorry for the long diatribe. I had a taste of the old days when I nursed Katie through her recent tonsillectomy at 22, and that kind of parenting? It’s harder. I’d rather just loan her gas money now.