The perils of being a psychologist and a mother

I have been doing some 11 days of placement at the developmental disabilities clinic in the hospital now. And every time even before I step into the hospital, I get all mushy when I see toddlers on the train and inevitably think about my two-year-old whom I have left behind at home.

Then my feeling of mushiness turns into dismay and sadness every time I meet a child at the clinic - and especially a toddler of YX's age - who is developmentally delayed and/or who has some form of Pervasive Developmental Disorder (this term, by the way will be ancient history once DSM-V is published). Anyway, I always go home and hug and kiss my daughter real tight at the end of each placement day. I am always appreciative and grateful that my daughter's development is generally on-track in spite of her birth history, and that she's generally happy and well-adjusted.

Then the next wave of worry and anxiety hits me... If I have a second child, will he or she be all right? How will I cope if I have a child with disability? Frankly, I now know not to be overly excited or positive due to my experience during the first pregnancy. If anything shitty should happen, it always happens to ME.

Anyway, the occupational hazards of being a psychologist are real. And especially poignant and impactful if you're a mother as well. Sheesh.