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I think I might be losing it.

There's something so scary about being a parent -- scarier even than the prospect of labor, or the idea that someday the person who has grown up in your house is going to demand your car keys.

It's the idea of that person possibly getting hurt.

It would kill me. I mean, literally. Even if it happened miles away from where I was, I feel like it would be this ESP-type thing where the second anything happened, I would keel over and die. Isn't there some movie like that? Where the two brothers feel what's happening to each other? Mine is like that, only probably more psychotic.

It's ridiculous. I can't even watch TV anymore. Last night, Freckles and I watched an episode of Lost and I realized that I had totally spaced and didn't care what happened to Jack and Kate and their little probably-doomed romance. All I cared about was whether the actor who plays Claire's three-month-old baby was cold or not on the set.  Cause he was crying. And then, because it follows logically, whether Baby J will be cold in the future, and what I can do to prevent it.

And then, I'm supposed to fly to Oregon in two days to visit my family, and so I'm anxious about the car ride to the airport. Because we have to take Super Shuttle. And I don't want Baby J to cry while we're waiting for other people to board the van. (Yeah, like many other people are going to even fit once Freckles, Baby J, and I descend with all our gear, but that's another story.)

And also, in an hour, I am supposed to go to the pediatrician so Baby J can get his flu shot booster, and he's sleeping really peacefully and it's so cold outside and I don't want to wake him up and I want him to be okay because I want him to be really happy and I am making myself insane.

The fact that his sleep improved the second I got my anxiety-prone butt out of bed and went in the other room is not lost on me.

Neither is the fact that I sound completely crazy.

Fortunately, I am deluded enough to have convinced myself that, actually, I'm completely normal.