Worry

A parent’s job.
To worry.
The past week has been consumed with worry. Of things real and imagined. The worried has created doubt. Am I prepared? Am I ready? Really and truly am I ready?
I am afraid.
Of the worry.
Of the reality.
The reality of having a child and worrying. Constant in the background of everyday life. Along with the laughter, the excitement, the joy, this will be the reality for ever now.
The worry.
And there is so much to worry about. Nobody tells you to imagine the worry. How would you to that anyway?

Is she ok?
Is she on track?
Is she growing?
Is she eating enough?
Is she happy?
Does she hate us yet?
Does she have enough toys?
Are they the right toys?
Does she have friends?
Are they the right friends?
Who exactly are the "right" friends?
Is she doing her homework?
Is she keeping up at school?
Does she hate us yet?
Is she wearing too much pink?

So, while I should be excited, I am concerned. Where there should be a smile, there is a frown, a furrowed brow, a knot in my stomach.

I am worrying.

As husband-san says, “Welcome to parenthood”.