I have a confession to make: After moving him to his own crib around 11 or 12 weeks, I think I’ve only snuck into my son’s room to check on him twice.

Judging by Internet message boards that are filled with tales of first-time parents hovering above their children to confirm that their chests are still rising and falling, this makes me a freak.

The same goes for requiring people to wash their hands before touching my child. I don’t, and rarely have. Ditto for constantly sterilizing his toys and pacifiers. Nope. In fact, I’m willing to bet most moms would be pretty scandalized at how often I’m willing to put a dropped pacifier back in Baby Y’s mouth.

Pssst … I dropped this on the kitchen floor and mom just gave it back to me.

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Basically, I’m missing that amped-up anxiety gene that most new moms seem to have. Most days, I think this is a good thing – parenthood comes with a host of worries, and I’d rather expend my energy on the important ones.

Sometimes, though, I have this creeping doubt. Should I be worrying more? Am I a bad mom because I’m not flipping out every day about something?

Today, after I finished nursing him, Baby Y wriggled away, scooted across the bed, and got up on fours to peer out the window. One of his arms gave out, and his little forehead smacked the windowsill. He turned and looked at me, his eyes wide, his mouth quivering, and finally let loose with a pained wail. Of course, I scooped him up, smooched him all over, rocked him and shushed him.

A couple of minutes later, it was like it never happened, aside from the small knot forming on his forehead. And as the day wore on, it was clear that he was absolutely fine, and what little anxiety I’d had evaporated. And funnily enough, I started getting anxious about not being anxious: Should I be frantically Googling “baby hit head”? Should I be calling our pediatrician for an appointment? Should I wake him from his nap to make sure he’s okay?

Oy.

Papa Y is similarly cool-headed (motto: “You can’t have children without chillll”). We  like to think that our relative calm has rubbed off on our easy-going baby, though in reality, we probably just got lucky. Perhaps we wouldn’t be so chillll if we had a baby who wasn’t.

Don’t let me fool you – I am not a jitter-free mama. I have the normal stress about milestones – is Baby Y where he “should” be? I always worry when I don’t think he’s gotten enough shut-eye (for both his sake and mine). And even though Baby Y and I don’t cosleep, I have a recurring dream that he falls out of bed while snoozing beside me (I have lunged at Papa Y in my sleep many, many times in an effort to “save” my falling child).

In reality, though, my worries are long term, and more along the lines of whether and how I can raise a smart, well-adjusted, respectful kid in this crazy world. And those worries are more than enough to consume anyone without sweating the small stuff.

A lot of people say they were super-anxious about their first child and super-relaxed with their second. If that’s the truth, I’m a little worried for my theoretical second child, because he or she will probably be BASE jumping from the top of the kitchen cabinets by the age of two.

Any first-time parents out there managing to keep their cool?