When should I worry?....

When should I worry?  I ask this question of myself a lot more than I ever used to.  Previously it was reserved for when hubby was being boisterous on a cliff edge, or if a friend was overwhelmed after a break up.

It's now a daily question, revolving in my mind, contributing to the relentless noise.

Twin 1 coughs: when should I worry?
Twin 2 isn't crawling yet: when should I worry?
Z's being aggressive again: when should I worry?
Barry and I are bickering: when should I worry?

Twin 2 was recently in hospital following a virus that meant he needed oxygen.  He was nebulised throughout the night and I didn't worry.  It really messed with my weekend plans and I was a bit irritated actually.  He didn't seem that bad to me...

Twin 1 rolled off the changing table the other evening - hubby was babysitting and I was on my way out of the door for a much needed night out.  After a brief checking over, I left.  I wasn't worried.

Are these shocking things to confess?  Will I be ostracized for saying that fairly serious things happened to my 9 month old babies and I was unconcerned?

Or is that the purpose of my mother's instinct?  That when I listen to the Mama inside, I'll actually know when something serious is happening.  I'll feel it in my bones, in my heart space, in the place where they once lived.

And perhaps if I can quell the part of me that frantically researches health conditions online in the middle of the night, the part of me that listens when other mother's compare developmental milestones, the part of me that takes advertising emails about childproofing seriously, or the part of me that weeps when I read a Facebook post about the tragic death of an infant.

Perhaps if I can turn off this external facing, nervous worry, and listen to the Mama inside, I won't feel so guilty about a night out.  I won't feel guilty for not using the inhaler as recommended.  I won't feel guilty about not covering the plug sockets.

I'll worry when I worry.

Because I'll know when.