had a baby, lost my mind

One of the things people don't tell you when you're having a baby (in addition to the fact that your male infant can sport an erection) is that with the birth of a child comes the unraveling of logic. Not a temporary situation, either. You pop out a kid and you can kiss good sense goodbye.

Here's what I mean. Last week we took a trip to the park. Magnus is feeling more confident about his physical abilities and decided to try his hand at the large slide. We called it the big boy slide. Who was I kidding? It was The Slide that Kills Kids. As he scaled the steps to the very top, grinning and giving us a little wave, I pictured him hurtling off the side and falling flat on his face. I was able to shake this terrible vision in time to see him sail down the slide and land safely on his feet. But this was just one in a series of incidents where I feel impending doom is lurking around the corner, waiting to harm my precious firstborn.

Take his baby tub. A month ago he was splashing away, happy as a clam. I stepped away for 14 seconds (I counted) to toss some laundry in his room. The splashing suddenly halted and my heart dropped to my ankles. I rushed back into the kitchen, convinced that he had slid underwater and was fighting for his life. (Never mind that he's actually too big to lie down and be submerged in water). Not so much. The child was momentarily distracted by his plastic car and had put the brakes on the splashing. What was wrong with me?

The latest episode of my utter insanity happened this morning. Magnus went to bed later than normal last night. When he hadn't roused by his normal 6:30 a.m., I rose to my feet and slowly made my way to his room. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting to find, but "coma" came to mind. I almost collapsed with relief when I found him sitting in his crib, tugging on his blanket.

I am sure all moms have moments of dread or paranoia when it comes to the safety of their children. I'm just wondering if I'm one of those extreme cases that require medical supervision. Sometimes at work, I'll fret that Magnus managed to unlock my parents' front door and is running unsupervised in the street. Perhaps my guilt at being a working mom is kicking in and overriding the stability control function, rendering me a delusional psychopath. Sadly, I think these bouts of maternal kookiness are going to be around for a while.

Wait - do you hear that screaming? My bad, it's just the lawn mower across the street...