Silly, all-consuming, can't-get-rid-of worries

I wish I didn't worry.
I wish I was one of those laid-back moms who took things in stride and knew everything simply would just work out.
But I'm far from that.
In a previous post, I already admitted my (senseless) worry that having a child would somehow damage my relationship with Jesse.  Knowing how completely ridiculous that turned out to be should calm my mind a little.
But it hasn't.

For some reason, I cannot shake this fear that baby number 2 will, in some way, make Emerson feel neglected... or it will change her in some way... or worse, it will change my feelings towards her in some way.

Really, I blame my cat, Moe, for this, and I honestly did not notice the connection until my fingers typed out the last paragraph.  See, before Emerson was born, I adored Moe.  He and I lived alone together for over 5 years.  We'd cuddle up on the bed or couch together every night.  However, since Emerson's birth, that relationship has drastically changed.  Moe runs from the screaming, giggling, loud baby so when she is awake, he's rarely in view.  When she is asleep, I'm usually trying to grade papers or do lesson plans (or go to sleep at 9:00) so I get annoyed when he climbs all over my lap.  I catch myself sometimes and realize I'm being unfair to him.  He is neglected.  My feelings for him have changed.

I guess that's what I fear will happen with Emerson.  Perhaps she won't hide under the bed when the new baby arrives (or maybe she will!), but I worry I won't have time for her.  I worry that she'll notice how distracted Mommy suddenly is.  I know I won't be able to rock her to bed at night or spend as much one-on-one time with her and that these changes will make her feel like Mommy loves her less.

I know I'm being ridiculous.  Jesse tells me all the time - you and I both have younger siblings and look how we turned out! (it's supposed to be reassuring).  But seriously, I adore my little brother and I thank God every day I have siblings, so I don't know why I'm so obsessed with this concern.

I've even been stubborn about moving Emerson into the bigger bedroom.  I don't want her life to be totally flipped upside down so I've been trying to defend leaving her in the nursery...

It sounds silly as I type this.  But writing is therapy and I needed to get this out.  So there, I said it.

The only thing I do more than worry is think of things to worry about.

My name is Coury and I'm a worry-holic.