There’s the hormones that throw you into an emotional spin cycle in the immediate aftermath of childbirth, of course. And there’s the sleep deprivation that makes you feel just a bit loopy all the time. But the real killer — the thing that I have found only gets worse as your baby grows older — is the fear that one only knows when they love someone more than they could ever possibly imagine. In the first couple months of a child’s life all of those factors are in full swing and it leaves for one coo coo mama.

Before I had Lilly I remember my sister telling me of her repeated bouts with absolute panic when she would awake in the middle of the night convinced that her newborn son was drowning in a sea of blankets in her bed and she would desperately rip her bed sheets off looking for him. This was all much to her husband’s confusion since my nephew did not sleep in their bedroom, much less in their bed. But sleep deprivation and a mother’s love do crazy things to your mind – especially in the wee hours of the morning.

When I first heard this story, I empathized with my sister since I have had my fair share of odd middle-of-the-night behavior — just ask Elliott about my sleep-screaming habit — but mostly I found it funny. Since Lilly’s birth, it’s not funny, it’s life.

Whether it was the power of suggestion, genetics or a crazy little thing called love, I also found myself searching desperately for Lilly in my bed on several occasions while she slept soundly in her crib in another room. I have also spent too many nights to count reliving every minor injury amplifying my fear with what-ifs.

One of my biggest concerns about having a second child has been that another child would literally cripple me with fear. Doubling my kids would certainly mean a disproportionate increase in the number of what-ifs. Or, perhaps worse, maybe it would make me worry less – jaded by the sheer volume of concerns to process. Then what?

I dove into the abyss anyway, figuring there’s always psychotherapy. To my surprise, Henry’s arrival did not immediately send me into a fear-induced panic. Not immediately.

Yesterday, like so many days, I took the kids on a short excursion to Target, filling the little bit of cart space that remains once you put a carseat in the main part of the cart and two coats and a gargantuan diaper bag in the seat. We then returned to the car, unloaded our new goodies (aka diapers) into the trunk, the kids in the back, the cart in the cart corral, me in the driver’s seat. Halfway home I noticed both kids asleep and began fantasizing about all the things I could get done with two sleeping kids in the afternoon.

I pulled into the garage, moved Henry’s carseat into the house and prepped everything so that Lilly could make an easy transition to the couch in her napping state. I walked back to the car to get Lilly out of her seat. As I reached for her I glanced across the backseat and saw the empty car seat base on the other side and … lost…my…shit.

OH MY GOD WHERE’S HENRY?!?!?

The sight of that empty carseat base sent me to an ugly place. Panic and adrenalin pumped through my body. I frantically retraced my steps in my head:

We were at Target. He was in the cart. I swear I put him in the car! What if I didn’t?! What if he’s sitting in the cart? In the cart corral? In 40 degree weather! ALONE! OH MY GOD I’M THE WORST MOTHER EVER!! MY BABY! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

While running through these panicked thoughts I ran to the backdoor thinking I just might have moved him inside already. And, lo and behold, there was Henry. Sleeping peacefully in his carseat just inside the door.

Oh, and did I mention the screaming? Yeah, that whole time I was screaming. Pacing my garage floor, screaming, “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” When I finally realized I was not the neglectful mother I had feared, but rather just crazy, the panic-induced blindness cleared and I also realized my screaming had woken up Lilly and she was staring at me with fear and confusion in her own eyes. I collapsed into her carseat hugging her, crying, apologizing and attempting to explain to a 3 year old what sleep deprivation can do to Mommy’s brain.

There was no simultaneous napping that day. But I did have my two children at home with me safe and sound.

You can imagine all of the what-if images that could clutter my mind after that incident. I certainly can. And I assure you they definitely would have kept me up all last night. That is, if I wasn’t already up all last night closely monitoring Henry’s breathing, convinced that he was suffering from Pertussis and cursing myself for taking him to the mall during the holidays, where he was most certainly infected.

Turns out it’s an ear infection. We live to worry another day.

To start with, I woke up at 4:15 a.m., which seems to be my body’s cruel way of sleep-training me for no sleep with a newborn. I was just about back to sleep by 5:30 a.m., when Lilly woke up crying. Same at 6:30 a.m. Same at 7:30 a.m. At that point, I agreed to let her get up and gave myself a free pass on morning play. Instead I planted Lilly in front of PBS Kids for an hour and a half while I slept on the couch.

When I woke up I was feeling better and hoped to pick up where we normally begin our day. It seemed, however, that Lilly was feeling particularly 3 years old today and everything I tried to do was met with resistance. This is often the case immediately following a visit from family when Lilly returns to the reality of not having a multi-person audience for days on end. And since my parents and two of her cousins just left yesterday after a several day visit, I tried to be patient. I admit I was not always successful.

Recognizing that Lilly was most likely just bored after having a house full of people for the last few days, I thought it would be a good day to get out and keep busy. But each time I asked her what she wanted to do the only thing she would say is “Nothing! I don’t want to do ANYTHING!” [Be sure to read that with your snottiest preschooler attitude.]

So I set my expectations low: we’d get to the library to return some books that were due yesterday. Surely, we could accomplish that. And then we’d have more books to spend some more time this afternoon.

After two hours of following Lilly around trying to get her to eat or get dressed or on the potty or clean up the numerous toys I tripped over in the process with basically zero success, I’d pretty much had it. I walked out of the room for a few minutes to give myself some time to cool off only to be summoned back by Lilly calling, “Mommy, I leaked!”

Obviously I was not thrilled with this develop but accidents happen and I don’t hold it against Lilly. After all, she’s only been potty trained for a few weeks. But when I walked into the room and saw her head poking out from behind our armoire — Lilly’s favorite stow away and poop corner — I became suspicious. After some gentle questioning, it became clear this was no accident, but rather a conscious decision to forego the potty. Needless to say, I was not consulted in this decision-making process.

At least now I can get her out of her pajamas, I thought.

Unfortunately, ridding Lilly of her pajamas is only one of several steps to getting out of the house and we were nowhere near through them all when it was nearly lunchtime. The morning climaxed with me demanding that she listen to me “at least once today” and Lilly hitting me in the face. Oh and did I mention that I have an awful kind of zit this week right on my lip line that makes the whole left half of my face throb? (Thanks pregnancy hormones!) So that 3-year-old slap was not what I needed. Timeout was instituted — for both of our sakes.

Then things seemed to turn around. I vented on facebook about the long day I was likely to have ahead of me, and a friend graciously offered her backyard, fully equipped with trampolines and playset, to help everyone pass the time. It seemed the perfect solution: Lilly could run around with another 3 year-old until nap time. I could wind down with another mom. Just what we needed.

Off we went for our playdate, library books in tow, which I very strategically intended to drop off on our way home to give Lilly a longer return trip during which she could fall asleep. About a quarter of the way to our friends’ house Lilly announced she needed a potty. Inconvenient, yes. But at least she told me. So we made a quick stop at the grocery store we were passing so she could take a pee break. And off we went again.

Long and rather disgusting story short, almost immediately after we arrived, Lilly’s diarrhea returned with a vengeance. By about twenty minutes into our playdate, Lilly had had 3 episodes; I was out of supplies and was quickly burning through my friend’s supplies; Lilly was suffering from stomach cramps but crying with disappointment that she wouldn’t get any trampoline or sandbox time in; and my friend’s house was graced with a new, rather unpleasant, odor. It was a mess. Literally and figuratively.

So here we are. Lilly is once again engrossed in TV — seemingly the only cure for her stomach aches. I’m preoccupied with my laptop. There does not seem to be a nap in Lilly’s future – or mine. I just had to cancel what would have been the first night of babysitting with our new babysitter. Our library books will be accruing another day of late fees. I have a pile of poop-encrusted laundry to do. And, now that the Tangled credits are rolling, I have to start trying to convince Lilly that a bath is a good idea. It should only be another hour or 2 before she’s ready to acquiesce.

Some days just surviving is good enough.

But what really gets to me — usually at about 4 am when I really wish I was sleeping rather than freaking out — is what I can’t do. I can’t protect Lilly from all the bumps, bruises and cuts she is bound to get in her toddler years. I can’t prevent freak accidents like planes falling out of the sky and landing on my house. (Yes, I actually worry about that.) And, as much as I wish I could, I can’t keep stupid, unsafe drivers off the road. (I’m talking to you, douchebag who let an unsecured bookcase fly out of his pick-up in front of my car last week!) So what is a neurotic mom, like myself, to do?

Seriously. I’m asking. Because after a week like this one my nerves are shot.

It started off with a routine sick visit to the pediatrician. Lilly was runny a month ago, still coughing mostly at night. Her allergy medicine is not helping. I expected a new prescription for the latest and greatest allergy medicine. Instead, I’m hearing things like “pneumonia,” “foreign object” and “chest x-ray.” I’m sorry, what?!

Now before I get a panicked call from my mom: all the films looked good and it does appear to be allergies. But here’s what I’m getting at — have you ever seen your toddler in a hospital gown? It is quite possibly one of the most heart-breaking images you will encounter. Even if it’s a routine exam and everything checks out — as was the case here — it leaves you with haunting fodder for what-ifs. I don’t care how many Tweety-Birds you print on that gown, it’s depressing as hell. [Ahem, support St. Jude's Children's Hospital here.]

So with that behind us, we set out to have a better week. Wednesday afternoon Lilly was having a fantastic time practicing her running; beaming ear to ear shuffling along the driveway at a quick pace, chanting, “1, 2, 3 – baby running!” Then, on about her 30th pass, and probably at the precise instant the staff at the pediatrician’s office turned off the lights for the night, she went face first into the driveway. Blood everywhere. Tears streaming. And me, desperate to confirm that she still had all her teeth and no major injuries.

An ice pop, several showings of The Wiggles and 2 days of a fat lip later, I took Lilly to the zoo, only to have her trip on an elevated walkway. Generally, I consider this walkway safe, even for an untethered toddler, since the side rails are sturdy with a s0lid backing leaving only a couple inches of unshielded space at the bottom, much smaller than Lilly. I had not considered how much smaller Lilly is when horizontal. Judging by the gasps behind me, this occurred to the family following me right about the same time I grabbed Lilly’s leg to keep her from rolling any closer to the edge.

And as if that wasn’t enough action this week, we took Lilly to her first baseball game yesterday. The second we agreed to go, I began seeing images of a foul ball straying into our section and knocking Lilly in the head, but I forced these anxious thoughts from my head. I mean really, what are the odds? With half an inning left in the game, Lilly slipped and bumped her mouth on a picnic table, again drawing blood and tears, but no major injuries. Not ideal, but certainly not new territory. So, as we were walking away from a successful, calming session on the carousel, I was beginning to set aside my anxious concerns. I bent down to fix Lilly’s hat and BAM! — a homerun ball flies right above our heads, hits the carousel and falls about 10 feet away from us.

Ok, so maybe the take-away here is no (major) harm, no foul. Accidents are going to happen. But having had several hours to relive all these stressful little moments each night between 2 am and 5 am, and consider alternative outcomes, I really see only one realistic option that will get me through the next 18 years or so without a nervous breakdown. Which brings me to my final question: anyone know where to get a good toddler-sized bubble?

“We spend precious hours fearing the inevitable. It would be wise to use that time adoring our families, cherishing our friends, and living our lives.” ~ Maya Angelou

I don’t like to turn down an opportunity to make a resolution or two. Who couldn’t stand to improve themselves a little, right? Certainly not me. The question is always what changes do I want and do I think I CAN make in myself?

I decided after a year plus of all Lilly, all the time, my 2010 resolution should be a little bit about taking care of me. And if there is one thing that has been tossed to the wayside in the last 17 months, it’s my peace of mind. When Lilly was born, so was a little seedling of anxiety. That seedling grew a little bit with every ride in a car, every outing. What if something happens to Lilly? Or me? Would Lilly be alright? I’m not what you would call a mellow person, but this level of anxiety was a new experience for me. I accepted that fear comes with motherhood to some extent. It’s an inevitability when you put someone else’s life ahead of your own 100% of the time, but then realize that the security of that life depends also on the security of your own. Freaky, right!?

Then there are the tragic stories on the news every day. Children dying in tragic accidents, suddenly, with no warning. Events that can not be prevented, at least not by even the most attentive parents. It’s enough to paralyze a mother with fear. Suffice it to say, I now understand my mother’s irrepressible need to warn me about every possible danger from the unavoidable bumps and bruises of toddlerhood to highly unlikely parasitic infections from Floridian waters. It still drives me a little crazy, but I understand it.

So after news of a truly devastating Christmas morning fire in Louisville, which hit a little too close to home, and the many sleepless, anxiety-filled nights that have followed, I am resolving to find a little peace each day. 10 minutes. That’s all. Ten minutes of solitude each day to take time to breathe, to walk, to read, to meditate, to do anything that calms my nerves. Specifically banned from those ten minutes are technology (TV, computer, telephone, but not music) and multi-tasking. While banning anxiety may be more to the point, it’s not realistic. The idea is that eliminating the stresses of bad news, an overloaded to-do list and the pressure of dealing with those things, even for 10 minutes a day, will eventually help ease the anxiety. Time will tell.