Fears

Maybe the entire experience of having a child is doing all the things you said you'd never do. Maybe it's a long lesson in the dangers of hubris tied to a short sermon on the importance of keeping a sense of humor.

All I know is that on Monday, emboldened by the news that I can finally walk to the coffee shop (huzzah!), I walked to the coffee shop. I threw a copy of last week's New Yorker in the stroller because that's the kind of young, hip Mom I am, and sat down to read it. Okay, warning to all parents and otherwise squishy-hearted peoples out there: the short story last week is about A SICK BABY. It is a very beautiful, well-crafted, finely wrought story. About a SICK BABY.

So, all of a sudden, my plans for a carefree Mommy & Me outing were scrapped in favor of sobbing violently into my cafe au lait. I kept looking over at the tiny sleeping nugget next to me and repeating, like a crazy person, "Nothing bad can ever happen to you. Nothing bad can ever happen to you."

And despite all of the Free Range parenting I'd sworn I'd uphold, and the blessings of skinned knees I had vowed to cherish, there I was blubbering and gasping and bargaining with anyone who'd listen that nothing, absolutely nothing, can ever hurt my child.

We made it home safely, we can go to a different coffee shop next time to avoid all the people who saw me keening, and later in the afternoon, perhaps to cheer me up, the baby spit up in the hood of my sweatshirt.