As we settle into our seats on the roller coaster, the teenage attendant performs his obligatory checks, his mood reflecting the day’s grind. Click, click, click.
It’s been a whirlwind afternoon. My spirited 3-year-old, Lily, is a whirlwind of energy, her blond hair tousled from hours of play. My husband, Jake, wears a look of exhaustion—a testament to the physical demands of chasing after little ones—but there’s a contentment etched on his handsome face. Our youngest, Sophie, not yet 2, radiates the joy of childhood even as she bears the signs of fatigue from skipping her nap. I know this ride will likely be our final thrill of the day. Click, click, click.
As I gaze across at my bubbly little Sophie, who is waving her tiny fingers at me, I can’t help but smile. But that smile is tinged with a wave of anxiety about the long trek back to the car. It looms in my mind like an unwanted shadow. Click, click, click.
The coaster begins its slow ascent, and I watch Sophie, my heart racing. I am flooded with memories of her chubby fingers wrapping around mine during feedings, her coos and gentle touches. Now, she’s bursting with a playful spirit, often giggling and darting away from us, inciting a chase. She’s mastered the art of freeing herself from her high chair, and she treats seat belts like a challenge. As we climb higher, a knot forms in my stomach.
Clang, clang, clang.
Oh no. Clang, clang, clang.
She’s wiggling. I can see her tiny body adjusting, plotting her escape just as we near the top. Clang, clang, clang.
The panic sets in. I’m pleading with her, my voice drowned out by the wind. “Please, sweetheart, stay seated. This isn’t a game!” I can’t reach her; she’s too far away. My heart races as the roller coaster inches toward the peak.
I’m crying out, desperate, but my words are lost. I bang my body against my safety bar, feeling the desperation clawing at me. “Please sit down.” I am a whirlwind of fear and love for my child, watching her stand defiantly.
At the last moment, she folds her legs back under the bar, a smile lighting up her face as she dances between sitting and standing. In that moment, she doesn’t grasp the gravity of her choices. It’s a game to her, but to me, it feels like a nightmare.
The ride continues, each hill met with my frantic pleas and her playful defiance. My body aches from the struggle as I watch my baby teetering on the edge of danger, and I feel utterly powerless. I thought this would be a fun outing, a simple joy. Instead, it turned into a revelation of my deepest fears. And when the ride finally ends, I feel the weight of it all—no motion sickness here, just raw terror.
That night, I wake up trembling, my heart racing. I’m haunted by the image of my daughter falling, a fear that grips my chest like a vice. I find comfort in watching her sleep, her thumb in her mouth, blissfully unaware of the chaos my mind has conjured.
Before becoming a parent, people showered me with stories of joy—the first time your baby smiles, takes a step, or calls you “Mama.” These moments are magical, indeed, but no one warned me about the crippling fear that accompanies motherhood. It’s not just the fear of physical harm; it’s the weight of responsibility, the worry about the world outside our doors.
If you’re scared, it means you care. It means you’re trying. And honestly? I’m absolutely terrified. The day of the roller coaster ride was also the day my daughter tumbled out of a toy wagon and landed hard. I wasn’t there to see it, but my husband’s wide-eyed recounting of the event sent my panic into overdrive. He thought she might have been seriously hurt.
I wasn’t there to comfort her or check for injuries immediately. I arrived home to find her shaken but thankfully okay, yet the fear lingered. I know I will pass on both my strengths and my weaknesses to her, and I worry about the world she will navigate.
My job is to prepare my children to make smart choices, to encourage their curiosity, and to answer their questions honestly. The world is undoubtedly intimidating, but I can help them grasp it better.
Parenthood will always be a roller coaster of emotions—terrifying yet exhilarating. Our children won’t always be safely within reach, and our fears remind us of the depth of our love. The highs are vibrant, and the lows can be shattering, but every moment is a reminder of how alive we are. How worthwhile the ride is.
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In summary, while parenthood can be terrifying, it is a journey filled with love and growth, where fears serve as reminders of the profound commitment we have to our children.
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