Unencumbered as I am with many readers at this stage, I guess that I should take the opportunity to say the most outrageous things. I should feel free to rant and rail against everything and anything. Is this the time in a blogger’s life when they can get away with sheer unadulterated navel gazing?
Apology upfront to anyone that does stumble across this post.
Today’s theme I am afraid is my own bloody mortality. Definitely falling into the category of existential angst and not outrageous ranting and railing (which could at least have the potential to be humorous).
Today I feel so emotional. I was putting Bibsey down for her morning nap and was overcome by the thought that I might get ill and die. That I might not be there for my little girl. That I might not be here to see her grow up. I won’t dwell here on the details of that little fantasy. Because on the one hand I do not want to get too bloody maudlin and on the other I do not want to trivialise it.
I knew that worrying came ‘in-package’ with parenthood, but I wasn’t quite expecting this. Is it hormones? Do all parents go through this? Does it pass? Seriously?
Yours with a lump in her throat and a weight on her chest.
BM
x
PS. Am literally sitting by the phone waiting for news of the birth of my new nephew – could this have anything to do with my general anxiety. Oh and I am listening to the Moulin Rouge soundtrack… not helping.
image credit: existential angst
