“Stop worrying about me.”
Or, “Don’t worry so much.”
How many times have you said that to your mom over the years? Probably about eleventy billion. And how often did she reply, “I can’t”? I’m guessing about 100% of the time.
Now I know why.
Even though she’s only 8.5 months old, not a day goes by that I don’t worry about D.
And I don’t mean your run-of-the-mill piddly little worries that would make me a wildly stressed-out, obsessive, over-protective mom (which is pretty surprising, actually, since i really like to be in control of certain situations. i’ve turned out to be pretty laid back about this whole child-rearing thing after all. who’da thunk it?). Like I don’t get all worked up if D tips over and bumps her head (obviously as long as it’s not a life-threatening gash) or starts chewing on a piece of paper and accidentally swallows some. Eh, no big deal.
I’m talking big lifetime worries. Like how do I know if I’m raising her well? Will I be able to instill in her the values that I think she’ll need to be a good person? Will we be good enough parents to raise her to be a strong, smart, independent woman, with a good head on her shoulders? How do I make sure she has a solid foundation off which to grow the rest of her life? How do I keep from turning her into one of the specimens you see on Intervention or COPS or Girls Gone Wild?Will I be able to prevent her from being one of those snotty, bratty, disrespectful, obnoxious kids you see constantly fighting with their parents in public and who you just want to slap silly? Do I have the strength to not screw up royally along the way somewhere and break my child (emotionally and mentally, not physically. i’m pretty sure i would never crack a bone in her body)?
See what I mean?
She is so pure and innocent and beautiful and happy and full of wonder and curiosity right now. Every time I look at her or watch her playing with R or listen to her talking to her toys, my heart just swells with love and pride that we actually made that ridiculously awesome little person.
My absolute worst nightmare is that I do something that extinguishes that amazing little spirit in her and she turns out to be a lost, mad, unhappy person who hates her mom. I really don’t know what I would do to cause such a transformation, and I hope and pray every day that I never find out. But knowing that I am now fully responsible for molding this little person and shaping her future fills me with worries like this that I’m pretty certain will never subside.
And I’ve realized that I just can’t help it. I don’t sit and stew over these things every waking minute, mind you, but such thoughts do dance in and out of my mind a couple times a day.
And maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe it would be bad if I didn’t worry about her like this. Maybe it’s just showing how much I love her and want to always protect her and be there for her however she needs. Maybe.
And these worries are SO much different than any others I’ve ever had, no matter how important I thought those were at the time. Like what college am I going to go to, what kind of career path do I want to take, where do I want to live? Granted those are all pretty big life decisions, but raising a kid? Trumps them all, hands down.
Just last night, D was scooting around the house following me (which is super freaking hilarious, btw), and she got to our bedroom doorway. Just inside that doorway is the door to our laundry chute (well it’s not really a chute, more just a hole that opens straight to the basement and laundry basket below), which currently has no door on it since it was ripped off to redo the room and has yet to be replaced. She didn’t go near it, but I instantly thought oh my god, what if she fell head-first through that hole and splatted on the hard concrete basement floor?? I’d die.
That last one falls more in the head-bumping or paper-eating category than the screwing-her-up-for-life category, but you feel me. A mother’s worry truly is never-ending. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.
