I love taking care of my baby boy. Nothing gives me so much joy than to be certain that he is well-fed, doesn't stink, and overall happy and comfortable. Up close, however, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I overlooked something or that slowly, little by little, I'm killing him.
When he's breastfeeding, I always wonder if he's tilted the right angle and the milk's going where it should (and not to his lungs).
When I'm giving him bath, I'm afraid that he's too cold and may catch pneumonia soon.
When I'm carrying him, I worry that my rough and hard fingers are hurting his spine.
When I'm changing his diapers, I'm scared that I might break his ankles as I hold them up to lift his butt.
When I'm putting on his shirt, I just assume I'm not breaking his tiny arms as I push them inside those tiny sleeves.
There are plenty of things I fear I'm not doing right when it comes to his well-being that, when he's sound asleep, I always check for his breath. Every day is one more day that he survived me. For me, on the other hand, it's one more day that I sucked it up and put a brave face on. He's helpless without me, so I'd do it happily, until he can give himself a bath on his own.
Expect the worst, hope for the best - still holds true even in child care.
Here is a photo to commemorate this day. It's not to brag that I'm doing great. It's to let me know that I'm not doing so bad.
This is my salute to new (and experienced) moms for pretending daily that we know what we're doing. We got this!
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