I was born a worrier. I will die a worrier. Motherhood has not improved this. I worry if he is eating right, is he eating too much, too little? Is he too fat? I don't worry if he is too thin though. Is he getting enough iron? Do I love him enough? Are we bonded enough? Too much? I feel guilty when I feel like I want a hour away from him, after all I wanted this kid. I wept for years over not getting pregnant, and now I am lucky enough to have him and I want to escape? I am realizing that I am not the June Cleaver I thought I would be, if anything I am more like Roseanne. I am not necessarily thrilled by not using my brain all day. I am more than willing to sacrifice my ideal life for the long term well being of my son however. It is so important for me to be home with him, to watch him grow and guide his experiences. I really don't know what I was expecting it to be like all those years I was at work and thinking that this was going to be the ultimate existence. I think I need to "reframe" this situation. Unlike the majority of Mom's here in the US I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to stay home and raise my baby myself. I need to remember that. Maybe I need to take a class...or read challenging literature...or suck it up and quit whining!