Life as a Mom: Being a Little Less Graceful Under Pressure

"Momma, what does fuck mean?"

I was four months pregnant, sitting on the floor in my basement, bawling. My three-year-old was standing over me. I had just attempted to call my husband at work to no avail. Our septic tank was backing up into our washing machine.

I am no stranger to crisis. I spent four years as a therapist for adolescents in residential homes and eight years as the clinical supervisor for an adult mental health crisis unit. The name of the facility even had the word crisis in it.

At work I had my own pair of pink rubber boots so my feet would stay dry when the new bathrooms flooded. When I wasn't unclogging toilets and cleaning up vomit I was standing up to angry men and convincing suicidal people not to hurt themselves. I could handle a lot at the same time.

All of that seems to have changed. Now that I am home with two small children the stakes are higher for me.

When I am driving my car and it lurches or when I am exiting the highway and the brake light comes on, I panic.

When the carbon monoxide detector starts beeping at 4:20 am and the fire department tells us to leave our home with our family on one of the coldest days of a New England winter, the adrenaline rushes.

If my husband and I had been alone when the detector beeped, we would have changed the batteries or moved the monitor. But we weren't. We were staggering around our home blurry-eyed looking at our small children. We dialed 911 and walked outside, blankets wrapped around our boys.

I am lucky to have a partner who I can lean on during these times. He understands my anxiety even when I don't. He forgives me for teaching our toddler how to swear and wipes away my tears. He helps me develop evacuation plans so I don't to lie awake panicking about what I would do in an emergency.

Yet, as I think about all of the normal every day emergencies--breaking-down cars , temperamental septic tanks, beeping alarms--I realize how differently I react to stressful situation. Now that I have two little lives in my hands, I don't cope with things quite as easily. Every difficult situation is a little scarier.

Today, I can no longer face a crisis head on without a little cursing and crying on the side.

And I have to accept that when I have water from my septic system mixing with my laundry my son may learn to swear. And that will have to be OK.