RANT: An Open Monologue to My Kid

Hi. Hope you are having a fantastic time with your Grammy and all. I really do. I know that getting to see all the multitudinous cousins and etc. on your Dad’s side of the family is super-fun. Plus, you’re getting your travel on, which is always exciting.
However, I’d like to point something out to you.

Paris, TX  is at least 7 hours away from our home by car. Probably a bit more, knowing your Grammy’s propensity for back roads. So, even though I knew that the likelihood was that everything would be alright  – I still asked that you text and/or call when you reached your destination.

Imagine the Wayne's World flashback noise. That is TOTALLY the sound this image makes.

Let’s pause here for a moment for a bit of wibbly-wobbly flashback, mmkay?

I used to be ninja-mom1. Do you remember that?

It’s true. I used to dive in front of anything that even looked remotely dangerous to you. Not that you didn’t make things interesting, what with your propensity to climbing and basic fearlessness. The fireplace mantel incident springs to mind, as an example of your own super-power: teleportation to dangerous places.
I was scared to teach you to ride your bike for fear that you’d fall and brain yourself.
Taking you to the pool was an exercise in twitching every time you squealed.
The park was a dark place, full of terror.
And forget letting you go off with a group of friends. No WAY could you foresee all the dangers out there. Ten years old is not old enough to go up the street by yourself to a friend’s house.
It literally took me YEARS to learn to let go of you. To allow you to go and do things without me hovering over you, ready with the cotton batting to swaddle you in. To keep you safe. Safe from harm, safe from other people, safe from the world.



*deep breath*

You’re now almost-13-years old. You’re so strong and capable and smart. You’re growing up so very fast. In just a few years, you will be out the door on new adventures.  I am super proud of everything that you are and are becoming.

Possibly the cutest baby, ever.

Keep in mind, though that in a small part of my brain, you’re still that teeny little baby with the fluff of hair grasping my fingers. You still cry in pain all night and I can’t figure out why and I can’t help and I don’t know what to do and I can’t sleep and I can’t help you and please oh please help my girl because she can’t keep anything down and she hurts and help her please please please2.

All I am saying is that when I ask you to check in with me? It isn’t because I don’t trust you. It’s because I want to know you have arrived safely at your destination.  I am not asking you to call and update me every day. Just let me know that there hasn’t been a fiery crash or an alien invasion. Mmkay?

So. Thank you for eventually texting me that you were in Paris, TX.  I am a bit upset that you waited for two days and 4 calls from me to do so. When you return home, we are going to do some work on being more mindful of others.

In the meantime, enjoy your trip, your cousins and your adventure. I love you.

1 – Anxiety plus mom plus a touch of the anal retentiveness equals NINJA-MOM. (*cue thematic music*)
2 – Colic. It is pure torture for everyone involved. For moms with anxiety, it is hell on earth.

2 thoughts on “RANT: An Open Monologue to My Kid

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