The last time I planned a celebration for Elizabeth it nearly sent me over the edge. And with her 1st birthday party around the corner, I'm beginning to wonder if history will repeat itself.
To say that I worried a lot when Elizabeth was born would be an understatement. I agonized over everything. What if the bassinet collapsed? What if I tripped and fell down the stairs with Elizabeth in my arms? What if someone tried to steal my car with her in it? What if someone tried to steal her? What if the chandelier fell on her? (I have only my dad to thank for planting this seed in my head.) Or what if Elizabeth fell into
the gorilla exhibit at the zoo? (I actually lost half a night's sleep over this one, after Elizabeth's first trip to the zoo!)
I assumed that these were relatively normal concerns for a first-time mom, and maybe they are.
But when Elizabeth was four months old, I started having anxiety attacks. My new-found confidence as a mother was shattered. Elizabeth's diapers became incapable of containing the required contents. I blamed myself. I even Googled "How to Change a Diaper". Slightly embarrassing. I entered Elizabeth in the baby contest at the Brooklin Spring Fair. What had I done? Would a potential loss scar her later on in life? I caught myself making absent-minded driving decisions. So not only was I an incompetent driver, but once the Baby On Board decal gave me away as a parent, surely I would be judged an incompetent mother as well. (Also, when did my shoulders become so broad? Would I ever feel attractive again?)
I was an absolute mess. And I was tired, tired of feeling like I had to justify every parenting decision I made and tired of trying to please everyone else when doing so only made my life with a new baby more difficult.
When Elizabeth was almost five months old, I had my worst (and hopefully last) anxiety attack. It was the day she was baptized. That day, I felt completely out of my comfort zone, or what was left of it. If I couldn't pull off feeling put-together at home, how was I going to pull off looking put-together in front of an audience of strangers and family members, who I was convinced would be dissecting my every move? The jig would be up, and everyone would finally see me as I saw myself: a complete wreck.
I talked to my OB. He suggested dietary changes: more bananas and
more dairy.
I talked to my GP. She prescribed Lorazepam, an anti-anxiety medication. My pharmacist advised me not to take my chill pills if I was breastfeeding (which I was); not to take them 30 minutes before driving (manageable, but most of my attacks occurred while I was operating a motor vehicle); and not to take the drug unless absolutely necessary because it was habit-forming (great, now I was going to become a drug addict, too). The guidelines for taking (or not taking) those little white pills only made me more anxious.
But although I filled the prescription, I never had to use it.
With the exception of one anxiety attack, two trembling hands, and several trips to the ladies room, Elizabeth's baptism went off without a hitch, although we did forget her baptismal certificate at the church. But I'll never forget the smile on her face when she was anointed. And I'll never forget how angelic she looked in the gown that was created for her using the fabric from my wedding dress.
I'll also never forget how smitten she was with the tropical fish on her first trip to the zoo, or how smitten the owls were with her. Or how my mom screamed from the back of the auditorium when Elizabeth placed 1st in the Fun in the Sun category at the Spring Fair.
And this weekend, whether I'm hoarding Lorazepam or handing out loot bags, I'll never forget her 1st birthday party.
