As they worked on her, I looked over at my husband and asked in desperation, “will she be okay?” and the man, who, to this day does not realize there are times I WANT TO BE LIED TO, said, “I don’t know.”
I laid there while a team of strangers tried to save my girl, who I had yet to see, and I wondered whether I was going to leave that hospital a mother... or not. Finally, I heard her, and the man in charge of her resuscitation said, “she’s going to be okay, mom.” And that was it. My title was official.
Of course, parenting is not a single act of valor. It is much harder than that. It is years of relentless effort and worrying and feeling fairly certain you are doing it all wrong -- interspersed with rare moments of sheer bliss where you are pretty sure you must be doing something right.
I’ve been a mother for nine years now; not seasoned, but no longer a rookie. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder if I’m doing the right thing for my kids. I’ve met many women who feel the same way. The advice I offer all mothers out there, struggling to keep it together, is the very first advice I gave my own child: just breathe.
Hang in there, moms, and...