The Panic

This last week was a doozy wasn't it? I mean little Falcon flying through the air (oh wait, he wasn't) and a baby taken from his mother by the TSA (oh wait he wasn't) and that baby in stroller run over by the train (oh how I wish that wasn't, thank God he's ok).
More than angry about the embellishers I am just thrilled that the children are safe. But this week gave me a panic attack. The third one of my entire life and I am so hoping that will be last cause in case you haven't heard, panic attacks? suck. hard.
My first one took place on a plane, I'm not a great flier and once the door shut with a particularly odd thunk I felt my heart race, my temperature raise and suddenly the panic was like a blanket on me. A boa constrictor blanket. I am not sure how I had the presence of mind to not freak out, but I guess I figured ranting like a maniac on a plane might not be the best course of action. Bloody Mary's were. Thank you Virgin America.
The second one took place on the table during my C-section. Awesome. I kept saying to my wonderful Doogie Howser-esque anesthesiologist  "I have to get up. I'm freaking out." yeah, cause getting up at that moment was going to happen. He was a rock star telling me there was nothing to freak out about, and if I wanted something he would give it to me but I might not remember the birth. I chose to just stay there and freak out. Finally once that kid was wedged free they brought him to me, still panicking, thinking it would calm me down...it didn't,  but we did learn that I am big fat camera whore because this picture:

was taken smack in the middle of  "let me up, I have to get up, I'm freaking out"( anyone surprised I'm a camera whore? I thought not)

This Sunday night I was taken by surprise by the panic, it came from nowhere. Nothing had happened directly to me or my family. Yeah I had sat by the television praying and crying for a little boy up in a balloon. The world is scary in a completely different way now that Max is here. I kept thinking how scared that child must be, hoping against hope that he was alive. I could feel viscerally how scared his mother must be, how angry she must be at his father...well placed or not I would have been furious.

I was not alone. Twitter was a buzz with ' I want to get my kid from school and hug him'.

I'm not sure how they resisted, Max was right in front of me and I couldn't hold him close enough. The thought of him in such a situation? Too much to bear.

Hot on the heels of that, a mother claimed her son was taken from her at the airport.  Having just travelled by myself with Max I experienced everything right along with her reading her story. I just can't help but feel what other people are feeling.

I'm like Steel Magnolias, baby: "No one cries alone in my presence"

Since Max was born I've had a bit of what is called Postpartum Anxiety. Sometimes at night I see him being hurt in random ways. Run over by a car, a dresser falling on him. When he was tiny we lived in Santa Clarita on the 3rd floor and the stairs were a constant source of terror for me. I would see myself dropping him and his tiny head popping like a cantelope on those stairs. The stroller getting away from me is a big one. I've seen it a thousand times. We live near a lake and we take lovely walks around it, but at a night the stroller makes a break from me and sweet Baby Max is plunged in to the murky depths along with a million abandoned shoes, bikes, frisbees and balls.

As I might have mentioned I want a new stroller since the brake is broken on my( utterly useless, infuriatingly expensive) stroller

So seeing it happen, to that poor woman for real and for true just put me right over the edge. I closed my eyes to try to sleep and there it was, over and over. For real.  The mother's reaction, how the people scattered and then raced to the train..and suddenly, there was that boa constrictor of panic. Again, this is only the 3rd time in my whole life this has ever happened, enough to recognize what it is, but still be scared by it.

Having a child opens the world up to a whole new range of terror, but my God isn't it worth it? So, I'll keep the panic attacks if it means I get to keep the baby. (And if it means I get to keep the Xanax!)

Also, I am dying to know what kind of bad ass stroller that baby was in...cause I want that one!