I am one of "those" moms.
I am one who, no matter how much my children show me what they can and can't do, will always worry. Always have panic attacks and anxiety when they are out of my sight. They'll be grown and have children of their own, and I'll still worry myself sick over them.
I don't do it as much with my little man. I love him to pieces, but the world won't be so cruel to him.
Today was my sweet big boy's first day of daycare/school. I worried all day. I took the day off from work just in case.
He had a blast. He was so good. The only thing I heard all day was "He's upset, and wants his chewie. Can you please bring whatever a chewie is?"
Then we got to the store, and I told him to pick out the backpack I kept forgetting to buy him.
He picked out Hello Kitty. I showed him all the other backpacks. He HAD to have Hello Kitty. I can just see the bullying begin. So I called my mom to tell her how the day went and about his new bag, and my fears over it.
And that conversation brings us to this post.
Yes, I am overprotective of him. He is my world. Him and his brother. But him...he's been through everything with me. I've walked through fire for him. He is my sweet, innocent little boy. I don't want his sweet nature and innocence destroyed anymore than it already has been.
I remember all too well the terror of his first days of life. And yes, he's so much bigger and stronger now. Perhaps it's the perpetual worrier in me that can never fully shake the first moments I held him.
I remember all the things the doctors have told me. And yes, so much of it he's overcome. But I haven't forgotten.
We've been homeless. We've had the shit abused out of us by he-who-shall-not-be-named. (Yes, I am a Harry Potter fan.) We've been broke, flat. He kept me going when nothing else would. He took a broken, frightened, lonely twenty year old and gave her something to live for.
And I don't want to see the light dim in his eyes again. I don't want the hope to go out of him.
I don't want this precious, beautiful little boy to turn into me.
I was broken. I was scared. I hated the world. I don't want that for either of my sons. I see the good in the world, the light in the world, through them. It was something I'd lost so long ago, I thought I'd never find it again.
I'm selfish. I don't want to lose that light again.
So yes, I am overprotective. Is it a bad thing? I don't know. Maybe. I learn to let go a little at a time, and yes, I know I've given him the tools to deal with it if he gets bullied. But no one comes out of bullying wholly unscathed.
He's been through enough.
I don't want that added to the list of things he has to overcome.
Sorry. My bad.
I am one who, no matter how much my children show me what they can and can't do, will always worry. Always have panic attacks and anxiety when they are out of my sight. They'll be grown and have children of their own, and I'll still worry myself sick over them.
I don't do it as much with my little man. I love him to pieces, but the world won't be so cruel to him.
Today was my sweet big boy's first day of daycare/school. I worried all day. I took the day off from work just in case.
He had a blast. He was so good. The only thing I heard all day was "He's upset, and wants his chewie. Can you please bring whatever a chewie is?"
Then we got to the store, and I told him to pick out the backpack I kept forgetting to buy him.
He picked out Hello Kitty. I showed him all the other backpacks. He HAD to have Hello Kitty. I can just see the bullying begin. So I called my mom to tell her how the day went and about his new bag, and my fears over it.
And that conversation brings us to this post.
Yes, I am overprotective of him. He is my world. Him and his brother. But him...he's been through everything with me. I've walked through fire for him. He is my sweet, innocent little boy. I don't want his sweet nature and innocence destroyed anymore than it already has been.
I remember all too well the terror of his first days of life. And yes, he's so much bigger and stronger now. Perhaps it's the perpetual worrier in me that can never fully shake the first moments I held him.
I remember all the things the doctors have told me. And yes, so much of it he's overcome. But I haven't forgotten.
We've been homeless. We've had the shit abused out of us by he-who-shall-not-be-named. (Yes, I am a Harry Potter fan.) We've been broke, flat. He kept me going when nothing else would. He took a broken, frightened, lonely twenty year old and gave her something to live for.
And I don't want to see the light dim in his eyes again. I don't want the hope to go out of him.
I don't want this precious, beautiful little boy to turn into me.
I was broken. I was scared. I hated the world. I don't want that for either of my sons. I see the good in the world, the light in the world, through them. It was something I'd lost so long ago, I thought I'd never find it again.
I'm selfish. I don't want to lose that light again.
So yes, I am overprotective. Is it a bad thing? I don't know. Maybe. I learn to let go a little at a time, and yes, I know I've given him the tools to deal with it if he gets bullied. But no one comes out of bullying wholly unscathed.
He's been through enough.
I don't want that added to the list of things he has to overcome.
Sorry. My bad.
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