I used to wonder if becoming a Mother meant your brain would be less full of tiny meaningless worries and insecurities, and while I find this to be SLIGHTLY true, yesterday I spent a solid ten minutes, while literally holding Joe, contemplating how self-aware I am, and how sometimes it’s a good thing, and sometimes it’s detrimental. Like I sat there within myself, holding my child, thinking about self-thought. And then last night, I dreamt that I went in for an IVF egg retrieval, and I woke up to find that they had taken out my teeth. And I was wandering around the clinic in a gown and socks, with my hand open and full of my own broken teeth, trying to get anyone to believe me. You took these out. You have to put them back. PLEASE, put them back. Dreaming your teeth break or fall out is a benchmark of insecurity. And so this morning, instead of primal Mothering, I find myself wondering, Am I the most insecure and self-conscious person that has ever existed? After spiraling for a few minutes into this, I remember, and remind myself, that EVERY ONE IS. Everyone is privately spiraling, pondering Themselves, how their own choices are perceived, laboring over what they said, over and over. It just manifests in different ways, in nail biting, jogging, screaming, over-compensating, scrolling, haircuts, poetry, new cars, cupcakes, tears. So then I watch Joe suck his hand, fart loudly, spit onto his own face, openly and confidently. He doesn’t think of Himself. I take a few moments to clean him off, and I don’t think of myself for any of them.