My anxiety was at an all-time high this past weekend. Ember Eve fell in the tub and chipped (dental term “fractured”) her perfect, beautiful top front teeth. She’s fine. She’s better than fine, actually. She cried briefly but then drank her milk and slept through the night. The next morning, she was the most delightful, happy child. She devoured pancakes and clapped her hands.  She staggered around the living room and played with her toys. She terrorized her dogs and jabbered and laughed.  She danced and  explored. I’m the one who isn’t fine; I have struggled to shake the image of her smacking her face against the tub.  She hit so hard, and my body aches when I see it in my mind.

For Ember, the encounter was scary and painful briefly, but I doubt she remembers any of it (I hope not, anyway). The pediatric dentist told us the damage is likely only cosmetic, and Ember handled the dental exam (they filed one of the teeth with one of those terrifying drills) like a champ. In the grand scheme, I know this isn’t a big deal, but the guilt and regret keep creeping in. We had just returned from Rob’s softball game, and Ember Eve had so much fun toddling around the field with me. She was dirty from the fields and messy from dinner. She was so tired when we got home that we almost skipped bathing her altogether. Why didn’t we just put her to bed? Instead, she got in the shower with Rob so she could go to bed clean. She was in the shower with him for less than 5 minutes when I heard what I call her tired cry, so I went to grab her.  We were both there. We were both taking care of her. And it happened so fast. Rob wishes he had picked her up. I wish I would have gotten her out of there sooner or simply put her to bed. But the bottom line is that this could have happened at any point, especially now that she’s walking, exploring, and attempting to climb everything. She’s going to be a rough and tumble girl, I suspect.

I suppose my anxiety is high because this encounter is the first of many that will shake me. I know she will fall again. I know she will get hurt. I know she will cry. She’ll break a bone, require stitches, bonk her head….the list could go on, and I haven’t even considered how I will endure emotional pain like her first broken heart. If Ember Eve is a tomboy like I was, I should prepare myself for many of these experiences and toughen up. Unless I envelope her in bubble wrap and deprive her of being an active kid, I need to accept that she’s going to fall and get hurt. I can’t protect her from some potentially painful experiences.

Motherhood has required a bizarre identity shift, and I swear that my body actually responds and feels pain when she is in pain (ET & Elliott). Early on, I struggled with many irrational, ridiculous fears. Now that Ember is mobile and strong-willed, some of those fears are more realistic. But I can’t let myself succumb to them or I’ll go insane. It’s easy to become consumed by “what if” scenarios involving your children. But it’s an awful, unnatural way to live. I believe that for most of us, happiness is a choice. Though I am an anxious person by nature, I can try to control it. I have to let go of this accident and stop blaming myself/playing the “what if” game. Though her top baby teeth may be shorter now, Ember Eve is a happy, healthy child, and she is unfazed by the encounter. Children live in the moment in ways that adults cannot fathom. I marvel at her delights and discoveries, and, in turn, I am learning to live like a child in ways I had forgotten existed. Instead of allowing mom guilt or what I’m not referring to as “mom crazy” to infiltrate and dominate my thoughts, affecting my mood, I’m going to try to be more like Ember Eve and live in the now.

I write this post as she naps on a Monday morning, curled up in her crib with her lovey and her favorite stuffed animal. She is peaceful. She is well-loved and well taken care of. And when she wakes up, I’m going to squeeze my sweet girl with her mop of red curls and imperfect teeth, and I’m going to focus on gratitude instead of regret and grief.  After all, I’m so blessed and so thankful to be her mother.