Wearing My Heart On His Sleeve
I am not an overprotective parent. Nor have I ever been accused of being a warm and fuzzy parent. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my children. I hug them and kiss them daily and make sure they know they are loved. But I’m also just as prone to teasing them mercilessly, yelling at them to clean their rooms, and laughing at them at somewhat inappropriate times.
As an example, a while back Monkey fell off her bike and banged up her knee and elbow pretty badly. She came running in the house hysterical and bleeding. She threw such a fit while I was trying to clean and bandage her wounds that I couldn’t stop laughing and almost peed my pants. It was hilarious. Not her injuries, but her overly dramatic reaction to them. I fixed her up, told her to chillax and sent her back outside to play. I didn’t kiss her boo boo to make it better. I don’t do that shit.
However, every once in a while something creeps up on me and takes me by surprise. I think it’s called sensitivity.
A few days ago Milo was knocked to the ground as the result of a freak accident while playing with his cousin. He got right back up, cried a little bit, brushed himself off and went back to playing.
But something seemed off, so I took him to the doctor to get checked out. I honestly thought they would tell me he was fine and I secretly chastised myself for being a worry wart. So when the doctor told me he had broken his left clavicle, I was shocked. I instantly burst into tears and started going through all the “what if” scenarios.
What if I was watching him more closely? What if I could have prevented the accident? What if I had brought him to the doctor sooner? What if I wrap him in bubble wrap for the rest of his life? These were all questions going through my head.
And as I kneeled down on the floor of the exam room to give him a hug, Milo had the answer, “Ow Mommy! You squeeze me too tight.”