From the first day mothers find out we’re pregnant, we worry. Mothering and worrying are synonyms. I’m not talking about curled-up-in the-corner, eyes-glazed-in-fear worrying (though that does happen), I’m talking about a more active worry: The “I Will Keep My Baby safe From Everything” type of worry.

It starts with vigilant pre-natal care, pregnancy books and blogs, birth plan research, and breathing practice. Healthy eating and exercise regimens become a constant quest. When the precious one arrives, we battle through diaper choices, feeding decisions, child care options, and skin care products.

Relentless, life forces us to make schooling selections, extra-curricular and child-care plans and find appropriate social outlets for our little ones. The details and thinking and–yes, worrying–are endless.

Everyday, we either protect and care for our children ourselves, or we carefully select the people who are in their lives as caregivers, teachers, medical professionals and friends. We dress them, feed them, hug them, talk to them, listen to them and make sure they are growing and thriving.

It gets more difficult in the teen years–but we do our best to keep track of them, to help them navigate school work, to go to every game they play, and to drive them and their friends around, eavesdropping just a little to get a sense of what’s going on inside their lives when they aren’t talking to us quite so much.

Then they move out. They go to college, they start working, they are not in your constant, physical care. You have to turn them over to themselves. That old Mother Worry screams, “Wait! I didn’t teach you everything yet! You can barely do your own laundry!”

The Mother Worry is kept in check by the ability to do something about it. For the first 18 years or so, we have a hands-on role in keeping baby safe. Even when they start to exercise their independence, we are there, waiting up for them to come home. We are still feeding, clothing, watching, listening, monitoring. When they aren’t there to see and feel and feed, Mother Worry can take on a life of it’s own.

I feel it now, as I think about it. The clenching in the gut, the what-if’s crowding in with images of all sorts of trouble and pain waiting to pounce on my babies. It is not safe out there. I remember how I felt when I first tip-toed out on my own, unsure of myself. I was lonely. I was a little scared. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I want to be there for my kids to help, to cheer, to protect.

So, I pray. I text. I call. I send care packages. I visit. Many nights, I wake up and can’t sleep, and my kids come to mind, so I pray some more.

There are some hard things that they have to face. There are still bullies out there, and terrible friend choices. There are drugs and parties and bad drivers and bad bosses. One of my precious ones even got lost, barefoot, in a forest after a river floating trip. And I wasn’t there to help. I didn’t even know about it.

That’s when I realize that my Mother Worry, while it helps me to be a persistent, careful parent, is not enough to ensure that my children with grow up to be happy, healthy adults. It never had magic powers to keep all the bad, scary stuff away. There aren’t any guarantees that can be purchased, stolen, earned or even prayed into existence.

Children grow up, learn from their mistakes, and live their own lives. It is truly a wonder to behold. Pride and anticipation start to push down the worry. They have grown into themselves in ways I couldn’t have imagined when I was focused on keeping all the bad stuff away. They are people that I like and admire.

The worry doesn’t go away, but we can manage it by trusting that God is the best at Mother Worry, and is taking care in ways we often can’t see or understand. Then, when the children come home for a visit, we get to baby them again.