The fact is, my sweet, every mother spends her time, so soon as her children are out of her sight, in imagining dangers for them. Perhaps it is Armand seizing the razors to play with, or his coat taking fire, or a snake biting him, or he might tumble in running and start and absess on his head, or he might drown himself in a pond. A mother’s life, you see, is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible. Not an hour but has its joys and fears.

[En effet, mon ange, durant le jour, toutes les mères inventent des dangers. Dès que les enfants ne sont plus sous leurs yeux, c’est des rasoirs volés avec lesquels Armand a voulu jouer, le feu qui prend à sa jaquette, un orvet qui peut le mordre, une chute en courant qui peut faire un dépôt à la tête, ou les bassins où il peut se noyer. Comme tu le vois, la maternité comporte une suite de poésies douces ou terribles. Pas une heure qui n’ait ses joies et ses craintes.]

Honoré de Balzac (1799-1850) French novelist, playwright

Letters of Two Brides [Mémoires de deux jeunes mariées], Part 1, letter 45 (1840) [tr. Scott (1897)]
    (Source)

(Source (French)). Other translation:

To tell the truth, my dearest, during the daytime all mothers invent dangers as soon as the children are out of sight. There are razors for Armand to play with, fire to catch his jacket, a slow-worm to bite him, a fall to bump his head, and ponds to tumble into. So you see that maternity is a series of poems, sweet or terrible as the case may be. There's not an hour which does not have its joys and fears.
[tr. Wormeley (1842), Memoirs of Two Young Married Women]