The hardest thing for me about parenting Henry has been the sense that every time I get my feet under me, the ground moves again and I am left struggling to get my balance. I think Henry is doing well, I can see that he’s doing well, but now I am worried all over again, and I am worried that maybe I’m not really helping as much or as well as I could be.

One of the things that I am trying to let go of is that constant worry; I’m trying to look at my children, both of them, and see not what might go wrong but what is going right. But I worry that with Henry, if I’m not ready for the disaster, I will be completely overwhelmed when it comes and will not be able to help him. And so I wait for the next bad thing, which is never — ever — the bad thing I was waiting for but always something I am completely unprepared to deal with on the fly.

My only hope, honestly, is that Henry will look back one day and realize that even when I had no idea what the hell I was doing, I was still right there, trying to do something. Or just loving him for who he is.