Have I ever mentioned that I am a worrier?
Well, I am. A huge one. And ever since I became a mom, my worry has expanded into ever more ridiculous proportions.
I’m the kind of mother that can’t go to sleep at night until I check on my children and make sure they are still breathing, the kind of mother who jumps at every single cry and thinks every head bump will lead to a concussion. I’m one of those moms that can’t just sit on a bench at the playground and let my kid go off on his own. I can’t stand it when Dylan wants to play alone in his room because all sorts of horrible and dangerous scenarios play in my head the whole time he is in there and I can’t see him. I stare obsessively at the image of sleeping L on the video monitor at night, and if I had my way both kids would have a monitor in their rooms until they are at least 10 years old.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, then, that Dylan is one of the most reckless, fearless, risk-taking kids I have ever seen in my life. He spends every moment of the day at home climbing, jumping, swinging and hanging on to every surface he possibly can and testing other ones. I spend half my life yelling at him to get down from the kitchen counter or putting him on time out for hanging upside-down from Daddy’s weight bench, only to have him do it again the moment I turn my back on him.
I dread when he goes to preschool during nice days because chances are that I will get a call from the school nurse telling me that Dylan has had some sort of accident or fall at the playground (he has actually had another kid’s teeth marks on his forehead TWICE because they collided while running around and bonked heads). He loves playing rough and tackling his dad and his cousins every chance he gets.
When it comes to my children playing sports, I know I will never be one of those moms who will sit calmly by the sidelines watching the game. If it involves any sort of contact at all, I will be chewing obsessively on the nails of one hand and clutching a rosary with the other praying that my child doesn’t get hurt. I have a hard time even watching my nephew’s basketball and football games. I can’t even imagine what a mess I will be when it’s my children out there on the field.
That’s not to say I won’t let them do it. I think sports are important and if my children show an interest in one, I will definitely support them. So far, I’ve been very lucky in that Dylan has only really wanted to do swimming lessons. I had him in gymnastics for a while (and always imagined him falling on his head and breaking his neck), but then he said he didn’t want to do it anymore. We did a two-week trial of Tae Kwon Do, and he threw a massive fit on the floor during the last class because he didn’t want to do it. He did express an interest in basketball, but when I tried to enroll him I found out the class had been cancelled because due to low enrollment. He absolutely refuses to try soccer lessons.
In my heart of hearts I know it is only a matter of time before he tells me he wants to play football, and I am absolutely petrified!
Filed under: Uncategorized
Real good entry, Khadine....I think the whole concept of "worry" just goes with parenting, yet is challenging- for kids & parents. You're doing a great job of exposing Dylan to different activites, even though some make you nervous. (All else I can say is keep working on the skill....it keeps getting harder as they grow up. My oldest is 16- driver's license, thinking about college, etc.....yikes!)
Ay Khadine, yo tiemblo de pensar q a AMelia le guste la gimnasia. Es que como que todas supimos de alguien que quedo parapléjico mientras brincaba de una de esas cosas. I think that the moment we become moms, we catch our breaths and never exhale. Ay mama.