Worry Wart

Yes, that is what my mama has always called me.  She says I am just like her mama worrying over every little thing.  I guess I have always been like that even as a child.  My mama says growing up I worried…about grades, friends, clothes…on and on.  She also says that although I worried about the silly things she worried about me.  You know I never understood growing up why my parents were always up in my business.  It was always no this and no that or you do not need to be around them because they are bad news.  It was pick up your room and wake up you can’t sleep until noon.  All those things made me so mad.  Even after I grew up (or so I thought) it didn’t get better it only got worse.  Then it was don’t drive fast, you need to study, he is bad for you.  Oh, I would get so mad and I would just go ahead and do whatever because it is what they didn’t want me to do.  Guess what…I had kids. Guess what else…I paid for my behavior. I became a mom and my parents became the smartest people I knew.  Being a mommy is the most wonderful job career in the world.  The day I laid eyes on my first baby I immediately felt an overwhelming amount of joy, care, and love.  A feeling that I had never felt before in my life.  I held her on my chest and breathed in her scent, I counted her fingers and her toes, and I kissed her on her forehead.  I never thought I could ever hold that much love in my heart for another human being but I was wrong….I did it three more times.  Each time was the same as the first. 

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I carried these babes for almost 10 months of my life.  I felt every little movement including those sweet little hiccups.  I rubbed my belly, I sang to them, I read books to them and played music  through headphones for them.  I suffered for hours and felt a pain that is described as being the closest to death that there is.  All of that pain forgotten the minute they placed them on my chest.  Then I brought them home….scared to death.  In the hospital you feel safe with them but then once you are alone you are terrified.  You think the worst things possible and you are running in and out of their room sticking your finger under their noses to see that they are still breathing (I still do this to this day).  The days and nights fly by and before you know it they are sitting on their own, crawling, babbling, and walking.  They don’t need you as much as they did.  The days turn to weeks and the weeks turn to months.  The worry just grows more and more each day.  You worry when you have to leave them afraid something will happen and you won’t be there to help them.  You cry when they cry.  You hurt when they hurt.  The first trip to the ER  when you clip the end of their pinky off while trying to trim their nails is more traumatic for you than them. That is the first of many.  The time you have to take them (because they jump off the couch pretending to be superman and accidentally land mouth first on the coffee table) you think you are the worst mom in the entire world and you contemplate calling social services on yourself. The anxiety and worry on the first day of kindergarten is just almost too much to bear so you drive around the block all day long and watch for them to go to the playground just to make sure they are alright (and get the cops called on you because the teachers think you are a crazed psychopath trying to kidnap a child).  You worry someone will snatch them while you aren’t looking which is something that happened to my son when he was 2 1/2 years old.  It was a few weeks before Christmas and I went to the dollar store in town to buy some wrapping paper.  I paid for what I wanted and then stepped out the door to pick them up (they had them in a box right outside the door).  As I was looking through the box I felt someone open the door so I stepped to the side and kept on looking.  I reached down to pull Jake out of the way and he wasn’t there.  I turned around and yelled for him.  I looked in the parking log and there he was starting to get into the back of a silver crown vic.  There was a white male with black curly hair, a blue ballcap, brown carhart jacket, and sunglasses holding on to him.  There was another man getting in the other side of the car and a woman driving.  Just so happens there was a car in front of them blocking the exit.  I started screaming as loudly as I could and running toward the car.  The man threw my son to the ground and jumped in the car.  They drove over a flower bed and median to get away.  A week later I saw a sketch of the same men in Nashville, Tn. trying to pick up another little boy.  I was in shock for months after that happened and it only made me worry more about my children’s safety.  They continue to grow and before you know it they are driving and then the worry escalates.  You can’t rest until you hear the car pull into the driveway.  You imagine the worst and every time you hear a siren you automatically assume it is them and you start calling all the hospitals around.  Guess what I start to think back to all the things my mom and dad had said and fussed at me about and then I saw them in myself.  I too had fussed about picking up their rooms, about friends that I knew would get them into trouble, about sleeping until noon, not talking to strangers, lying, being mean to others, driving slowly, being home at a certain time, and about that boy or girl not being a good choice.  I realized that my parents were just looking out for my best interest and they wanted the best for me. I realized had I only listened to them I might not have had as many heartaches.  I miss those days with my parents and I actually miss hearing “REBECCA JEAN GET DOWN HERE NOW”.  Yes, I am a mommy and I am a worrier.  I worry about every little thing….but isn’t that what mommies do?  Having a child is one of the hardest, trying, exhausting and worrisome things I have ever done but let me tell you it has been worth every bump in the road.  The journey has shown me many things and taught me about enjoying life to the fullest.  Today as I sit here watching Mittens walk around drinking from her sippy cup saying dada over and over again I am sad because I know she is my last one and I will never get to enjoy these days again.  Yesterday is gone…..what she did yesterday is just a memory now.  Believe me I take in every little thing she does and yes I still worry when she climbs on top of her little tykes table or when she is running in her sock feet and falls down.  I worry that someday some little boy is going to break her heart (and I will have to break his face).  I worry about the day that Kyle walks her down the aisle and she walks out of our lives to live her own life.  I am a mommy and my heart is walking around with my children.  They may grow up but they will always be babies in my eyes and I will worry about them until they place me in the ground.

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4 thoughts on “Worry Wart

  1. All I can hope for is that my kids one day have the grace, love and forgiveness for me that I have for my own mom. Although that’s sounds like I am being facetious, I totally mean it. Now that I am a mom what I realize most isn’t so much an understanding of why she worried but how hard it is to raise kids when you are raising yourself at the same time. No mom is “full grown” when she has kids. She is young, real young. Midi don’t have a clue at 29 when in had my first kid and absolutely no kid plus a ton of self doubt at 31 with kid #2. My mom was the same. So as I ride the emotional and developmental waves of aging, imhave a new understanding of my own mother. And she wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t mean. She was moody. She wasn’t this or that or the other. She was a woman, a young woman, navigating life as a wife and mother trying to raise herself while raising me. And she was amazing!
    Vicky
    (The Pursuit of Normal girl;)

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