One thing I did not anticipate about parenthood was the fear.

The all-consuming, never-ending, paralyzing fear. And fear about everything.

It really first started during pregnancy. I worried about a miscarriage. I worried about if I was eating well enough, exercising enough, getting in enough water. I worried before every appointment that we wouldn't hear the heartbeat, and before every ultrasound that we'd see a defect. But then out she popped, perfectly healthy. Relief, right?

Wrong. After she was born I was paralyzed by the thought of SIDS. I worried that when I picked her up, I would snap her in half. I worried that she wasn't eating enough, that she was eating too much, that I was ruining her completely.

Now that's she's 8 months old, I finally let her sleep in her own room (I still check to make sure she's breathing every time I wake up, though) and I'm not afraid of snapping her like a twig anymore. She's pretty resilient and I've grown more confident in my abilities and decisions. Still, there is always that undercurrent terror. It's almost as if I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Lately, I've been worrying about her development. She seems a bit behind others her age. And while I know that all babies develop at their own pace, some much faster than others, I can't help but feel she's delayed. And I don't know how to help her.

We have her 9-month check up at the end of next week. I'm anxious. I just want all to be well!