Big Deals

I've recently discovered yet one more thing about motherhood that none of the parenting books warn you about: It's really painful to see yourself (especially all those things you hate) in your children. Of course, there are the physical things. I bet that the girls will someday fight their "not-quite-curly-not-quite-straight-pain-in-the-neck" hair. Pretty sure that they're both sporting my cankles. (I apologize, ladies. It truly is unfair that your daddy has the best legs in the house.) And then there's a tiny little vein on the back of Sassy's leg that I'm already picturing in thirty years and worrying about. Because that's what I do. I worry. I always have. Did she poop enough today? Too much? What if she can't burp? What if it's not just a temperature? And worse is seeing THAT in Sassy. I hate seeing her follow in my footsteps when I know what an uphill climb it is.

On Sunday, we spent the afternoon outside. The girls found a caterpillar that they named Sludge--Ted for short. We captured Ted in our little screened-in bug box, and added some rocks, leaves, and sticks. We then discovered that the bug box had a few holes. Scotch tape to the rescue. All was well. Or so I thought. Sassy immediately began worrying that the tape wouldn't stick and what if it fell off and Ted got out, or what if Ted got stuck TO it and couldn't move, and on, and on, and on. . . When she finally took a breath, I told her to chill out. "You're sounding too much like your mother." :) "But, Mom," she said, and with great, dramatic emphasis (I kid you not): "Precious things are BIG deals."

THAT'S why I worry. It's not fun, or something I enjoy. Contrary to what my husband believes, I don't seek out things to worry about. Motherhood may have left my hair crazier, my cankles bigger and my vein uglier, but it also opened a terrifying vulnerability within me. It's hard NOT to worry about these two little people. They're big deals. And while I want to protect them and shield them from everything, I can't. And I shouldn't. At the end of the day, I've gotta open that little bug box door and let them go. They have to face whatever life gives them. I guess there's one advantage to cankles--I've given them sturdy legs to stand on.