I know I'm not the only one who feels somewhat unsettled, who feels like things are especially heavy in the world right now, the politics and prejudices, the police shootings and body shamings.
We are blessedly fine, but there are so many precious others who are not.
I am fluent in all the root words of my profession, regret and fear, patience, frustration and hope.
The one I lay wide awake with at night, though, is worry. I worry about one more loss, and about why we have not hit our limit. I worry about what lies ahead. I awfulize the future and let the what ifs eat my brain.
It is not the grim and thankless labor, not the loathsome, dreary tasks of parenthood that wear me out. It is the worry.
I want to be able to protect my children from all manner of danger.
There are playground accidents and crib deaths and tree climbing mishaps to avoid, car seat malfunctions and airplane crashes and drowning risks, there are sticks and stones and guns and bombs and words that hurt.
I'm afraid anyone alive is either lucky or tough, or both.
I want my children to help promote change.
I know about the magnitude of all the small moments, about how what I do today might matter in twenty years. I want to be an okay mom, to provide an adequate upbringing. I know I don't need to save the universe, but I do want to be part of the hope.
I want the boys to know there is more than one way to change the world.
And I want them to know they are loved.