One, Two, Three, Breathe...

Hi, my name is Renata and I am a recovering germaphobe.  It's been seven months, nine days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes since my last episode.  Okay, who am I kidding, recovery is a long, long, did I say long, road ahead. The weird thing about my antics is that I was not raised to be this way.  Helicopter parents? Nope, not I. I lived in a house where the motto was, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger".  True story.

My parents not only allowed us to walk on the grass barefoot, but, they encouraged it. And, no one, certainly not my family can understand where I picked up this ,"oh, my gosh, are your hands clean" kinda attitude. Well, there goes nurture out the window. 

Somehow I was wired to be Little Miss No Germs.  Though, I must say, that I have surprised myself. Before becoming a mum I was certain that I'd live a life of paranoia. The battle against germs would be heavily fought in our household. I was determined to sanitize, disinfect, and boil anything and everything that would potentially come in contact with my child.

Then I had my Liv and as much as I wanted to sterilize the world, I realized I didn't live in a bubble, nor did I want to. Plus, as much as my type A personality wants to control everything, I just don't have the time. Oh, and my husband is the complete opposite of me which is a bit of a conundrum.  Rational and Irrational.   Case in point, one morning when Liv was about two months old I went out to get us coffee. I made sure that she was fed and changed before handing her over to poppa.  I came back after a 15 minute trip to find Felipe feeding our baby the milk I had pumped in case of emergencies.  Instead of savoring the sweet moment between father and daughter I screamed, "oh, my, where did you get that bottle from?"

Turns out Felipe had just found a bottle in. Liv's designated cabinet and poured the milk. No hot water, soap, and repeat. He saw I was visibly upset and asked what was wrong, and fighting back angry tears I said, "those bottles were never sterilized!" To which he calmly responded, "well, too late now, she'll be fine, it'll help build her immune system." And that was that.

I'm thankful for Mr. "I don't really care about germs".  He balances me out, keeps me grounded.  If you're wondering if I need an intervention, fear not.  My tendencies to be a little paranoid lie at the very low end of the spectrum.  Clearly, since I let me daughter sit in the grass where the neighborhood ducks convene. And, I let her swing in the neighborhood swing set. I didn't even wipe her hands immediately after (Though I wanted to disinfect the swing beforehand, I didn't).  I understand the world is hers to explore, freely and openly as a child should.  I may have gotten a little twitchy when she started digging in the leaves with her little fingers, but I counted one, two, three and took a deep breath.  

This little girl is teaching me so much about life and I am loving every minute of it.  Now, if I could only find a way to baby proof the world?  I'm kidding, bumps and bruises are a part of life as well.

xx

Renata