moth.er.hood (noun): The state of constant panic and irrational fear.

Before I had children, I was a pretty fun-loving, borderline reckless, and carefree girl. But when my first bundle of joy was placed into my arms, something happened and I became unrecognizable. I was panicky, neurotic, and literally, scared of everything! Certain that I had developed some horrifying illness, I did what every reasonable person in search of a medical diagnosis does, I turned to WebMD. After all, there had to be some medical explanation as to why I would wake up from a dead sleep in the middle of the night to poke my sleeping newborn in the side "just in case" because she had been sleeping so soundly. Or why I would lay awake at night, in a cold sweat, worrying if she was getting enough to eat. Or why when I handed her off to someone to hold I would start experiencing heart palpitations. Strangely, WebMD did not have a diagnosis for me; but fortunately, new moms are never short on free advice (whether they want it or not), so I turned to the guidance of some veteran moms. It turns out, throughout my pregnancy, I had developed a serious case of "motherhood" and the prognosis was not good -- I would likely be managing the side-effects of "motherhood" for the remainder of my life.

My husband is usually pretty understanding of my ailment and will silently standby as I cut grapes into tiny slivers to prevent choking, or as I run in a panic after my toddler at the beach, screaming at her to "STOP!" because she got "too close" to the waves. Other times, he gets annoyed and says things like, "would you feel better if they just wrapped the world in bubble wrap?" Of course I wouldn't feel better, bubble wrap is made of plastic and plastic is so dangerous for kids!

Granted, sometimes my fears are irrational. Like the fear of  my children randomly deciding to dart under the garage door as it is closing. But other times, events occur that legitimize my fears. Two years ago, one such event occured.

Days after we had moved into our new home, while our household goods were still in boxes and before we had a chance to meet our neighbors, my two-year old woke up with a high fever. I had just stepped out of the shower and was in my robe getting ready for school. But after I felt her fever, I decided it would be better if I skipped school and took her to the doctor instead. I gave her a dose of Tylenol and laid her down on the couch with her blankey and a sippy-cup full of Pedialite, and went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready to go to the doctor. I checked on her five minutes later, and as I bent down to feel her forehead, her fever spiked and she began to have a seizure. (If you have never seen someone suffer a seizure, you are lucky, because it is a horrifying sight). As her body convulsed and her eyes rolled back in her head, I frantically ran to grab my cellphone to call 9-1-1. Because we had only lived in our house for a couple of days, I had never discovered how poor the cellphone service was in our home. I ran to several locations in my home trying to call 9-1-1 and at each location, my call dropped within 15 seconds of speaking to the operator. In total, I had six dropped calls to 9-1-1. Determined to find help, I scooped my seizing baby up in my arms and ran across the street to a neighboring house. When I reached the neighbor's front steps, I dropped to my knees with my baby in my arms, banged on their door, and screamed for help. When they opened the door, I pleaded for them to call 9-1-1. As the wife ran for the phone, her husband took my baby and carried her to his couch. When the firefighters and EMTs finally arrived, they stabilized the baby, hooked up an IV, cuddled her, and gently placed her in the ambulance. By this time, she had stopped seizing, and though she was very sleepy (a common side effect of a seizure), she was laughing and smiling with the firefighters. Although she was okay, I was not. I was shaking and crying so hard black rivers of mascara were flowing down my cheeks. A very kind firefighter came to comfort me. He placed one hand on my arm and said "Ma'am, we are going to go to the hospital now, so you may want to put on some clothes." Just then, in a moment of clarity, I looked down to discover that, at some point in my panic, my robe had slipped open and I had been standing in my neighbor's living room oblivious to the fact that I was completely naked. Talk about a way to meet the neighbors, huh?  I am eternally grateful for my neighbors help, but I will never speak to them again. And I think they are okay with that. They were forced to experience my "motherhood" at its worst and I'm sure they would never be able make eye conact with me again.

I realize that some people will read this and think I am crazy, and to some degree, they may be correct. However, I know that there is a segmant of the population who know exactly what I am talking about. Every mother and every mother-lover has experienced the effects of "motherhood" to some degree. Hopefully, I have shed some light on this debilitating condition and helped you  develop a sensitivity so that next time the mother in your life nags you, hovers over you, or snatches you up in a panic, you will just smile and thank her for loving you that much.

Below, I have provided an illustration of a common symptom of "motherhood." If you relate to this, you may be experiencing "motherhood." =)

photo credit goes to: http://www.memecenter.com/fun/119982/how-mom-sees-it