the little red fail meter

To be a parent is to live not quite on the edge of certainty.
I have always been a confident, independent person. I weighed my options. I made decisions. I lived confidently with whatever consequences came. When I learned I was pregnant, two years ago, I continued to act with this self assurance. In the hospital, having just given birth, I had no doubts. As soon as I got my beautiful, tiny bundle in our very small, very crunchable car, however, my entire thought process changed. Suddenly, everything was frought with potential danger. I quickly realized I was ignorant and emotional and driven by instinct. I cleverly hid these facts behind the decisions I had made when I was well rested (compared to my new sleepless, hagard state) and sane. I maniacally stuck to breastfeeding (which for our first month together meant attempted nursing my daughter, followed by a breastmilk bottle feeding and similtaneous pumping), though my preemie daughter could not suckle. I "taught" more experienced parents how to hold and burp and rock my precious child. I worked myself into exhaustion and depression because I didn't know what else I could do.
My daughter had slept in her crib across the room from me until finally, seven long months later, I determined I was doing something wrong. I was at the end of my tether. I could no longer function. I continued to wake up, now every three hours to nurse her back to sleep, which was the method I had set myself on after much research during my pregnancy.
So, after much shifting and cleaning of what was the office, my daughter got her own room. That day now seems an eternity ago, but one thing has not changed- the red light on the baby monitor that indicates the level of noise being made on the other end. When I can hear her, but not see the light on the devilish device, I feel like a good parent, training my child to soothe herself, allowing her to gain confidence, allowing myself to do the dishes. However, when I see that red light climb to it's peak with each cry, I feel like the most miserable failure to ever bear a child. It is as if every success I have ever had is meaningless because this wretched machine went from a harmless flat green to a glaring red glow.
Parents are not, on the whole, any dumber or less knowledgeable than those who have not reproduced, or than their pre-reproduction selves. We don't loose the ability to reason; we simply have a better view of how the butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane, and an instinctual need to prevent it from the source. Because of this, we second, third and tenth guess ourselves, constantly worrying that whatever decision we go with today will prove to cause some bigger problem tomorrow. We are surrounded by people and things that attempt to tell us that our choices are wrong-there are countless studies to prove it.  The truth is, we, parents- not the general public, not emotionless red lighted machinery, or the ad department of Huggies, Johnson and Johnson or Fisher Price- WE were entrusted to care for our children and teach them to be independent and confident.