The Anxiety and Guilt of New Motherhood

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My journey into the curious world of head-watching kicked off this past winter. It was as if my subconscious had taken the reins, and I found myself scrutinizing the back of strangers’ heads, evaluating their roundness—something I had never cared about before. I singled out the roundest noggin and contemplated how that feature influenced a person’s overall charm. Did a perfectly round head make them more likable? Would it help them snag a job over someone else?

When I welcomed my son into the world, I naively thought my worries about his well-being had come to an end. There he was—pink, wailing, and breathing. Little did I know, his survival extended far beyond mere existence; it encompassed his emotional health, future opportunities, and ability to flourish in a world that feels increasingly precarious since my own childhood. Issues like school shootings, cyberbullying, and drug use are rampant today compared to the ’80s and ’90s when I was growing up. Back then, you certainly didn’t see infants sporting helmets designed to reshape their skulls. However, one positive change has emerged since the ’90s: sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) rates have plummeted by 50%.

In 1992, the Safe to Sleep Campaign recommended that infants always sleep on their backs, in a crib with snug sheets and without blankets, bumpers, or toys. While this initiative has significantly reduced crib deaths, it has also led to an uptick in infants with flatter heads. The helmets some babies wear are intended to combat plagiocephaly—the flattening of the head—and are worn 23 hours a day, only removed during baths. As the child’s head grows, the helmet is adjusted to promote rounding on the flat side.

At just 8 weeks old, I took my son to a free tummy-time class, eager to showcase my little guy who had lifted his head off my chest upon birth. The instructor, a specialist in pediatric physical therapy, observed the four babies—including my son—with the intensity of a detective. Her grim expressions made my stomach churn with that familiar motherly dread—an all-encompassing worry that something might be amiss.

“Do you notice how his head is tilted to the side?” she asked. I thought it was adorable the way he leaned right and smiled at me. Was he always like this? As a mother, I should have noticed, right? My limited knowledge as a new mom started to unravel as she placed a toy before him, moving it from left to right. She circled him, scrutinizing from all angles before grimacing again. I wanted to snatch my baby and flee, but panic held me in place.

“Do you see this flat spot on his right side? It’s affecting his facial features,” she pointed out, indicating his right eye. “This ear is positioned slightly forward, and this eye looks more closed.” I nodded, though I couldn’t quite see it, and shame washed over me for not noticing what I now perceived as a minor deformity in my newborn son. Tears fell on the blanket beneath him. I felt like a colossal failure for not realizing that tummy time was essential. I was convinced I had let him down and that he’d never look right in a baseball cap.

A visit to the pediatrician confirmed our baby was among the 13% of infants in the U.S. with plagiocephaly, caused by torticollis—a condition where one side of the neck tightens, often occurring in utero when larger babies have less room to move. When placed on their back to sleep, they rest on one side, leading to a flat spot. The remedy? Physical therapy sessions twice a week.

Thus began my obsession with head-watching. Over dinner one night, my husband and I confessed to our newfound habit of analyzing the shapes of strangers’ skulls. No one warned me that motherhood would ignite worries in the most unexpected directions. Keeping those concerns in check can quickly become a full-time job.

At physical therapy, my son’s neck strengthened rapidly. Once he started rolling over at three months, he preferred to spend most of his days on his belly—even while sleeping! His eyes are now perfectly aligned, and you’d never guess his ear had ever been anything but symmetrical. The flat spot on his head gradually rounds out with each passing day.

As the eldest of five, I expected motherhood to be challenging. Yet, I never fully grasped how emotionally drained my mother must have been each night. My son won’t remember that part of his head was once flat, and I now realize that fretting over his head shape is trivial. He seeks little more than food, play, and love—and receives all of them in abundance. What I’ve learned is that motherhood encompasses not only my child’s growth but my own as well.

Just last week, a woman leaned in and commented on how lovely and round my son’s head had become. I smiled, concealing the fact that we had worked hard for it.

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Summary

New motherhood is often filled with unexpected worries, as demonstrated by Jessica’s experience with her son’s plagiocephaly. Despite initial panic and guilt, she learns that the true essence of motherhood encompasses both her child’s growth and her own emotional journey.