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What's Your Crazy?
We all have a little bit of crazy in us. It manifests in different ways. Some monitor every bite they eat. Some shop excessively. Some exercise till they drop. Some, like me, worry.
What do I worry about? My kids getting hurt. Really hurt. Bloody, hospital worthy injuries. I’m one of THOSE moms. I hold my breath when Big Guy gets knocked off his skates during a hockey game. I look away when Little Guy does a flip off the diving board because I think he may bang his head. I sit anxiously, waiting for the blood.
It’s irrational to spend this much time worrying because it’s inevitable that they will get hurt. I know this. It’s part of childhood. A rite of passage with the scars to prove it.
It’s a reality that started when Big Guy was three and literally ran into a wall. He needed stitches in his lip As a toddler, Little Guy’s chair simply tipped backwards when he moved, requiring staples in the back of the head. A few weeks later, Big Guy accidentally hit Little Guy in the forehead with a golf club, resulting in more stitches (and also Big Guy’s fear that the EMS crew would arrest him.). Simply walking by an open door to an ice rink resulted in a puck hitting Little Guy square in the face and breaking his nose. And most recently, Little Guy decided to get out of the bath to grab fresh soap. The end result being 5 stitches in the chin.
These incidents have been painful, bloody, stressful, and inconvenient. But guess what? Big Guy and Little Guy survived. So did I. So why can’t I let my worry go?
I want to protect. Prevent. It’s a mother’s nature. It has become my nature. I can’t accept that there will be bumps and bruises. Uncontrollable, stitch-filled bumps and bruises.
Since I can’t seem to eliminate the worry, I play a game with myself to minimize it. I envision all my hidden fears. My darkest, scariest thoughts. And then I compare these irrational fears to what I am actually worrying about. It challenges me to think, “it could be worse”. Worse than:
Birds. Not my thing. Especially at the beach. When people feed them, I freak out. An actual physical reaction. Chills up and down my spine. Unexplained twitching in my back. It’s quite a sight. Really Big Guy, Big Guy and Little Guy all enjoy taunting me. Here little birdie, have a Pringle.
Getting lost. Some think taking the wrong turn down a country road is exciting. Adventurous. Not me. Lost is another one of those bad four letter words. It makes me panic. Perhaps it’s my city roots. My control nature. This is why I love suburban living. With the Harris Teeter, Target, Starbucks, schools and shopping all within a 5 mile radius, I rarely have to venture far.
Being thrown into the trunk of a car. What can I say? Too many Lifetime movies on rainy afternoons. Pre-kids, of course. I didn’t realize my actual fear until Really Big Guy and I began contemplating an inevitable car purchase. With 100K on each car, the day is coming. I seem to be drawn to the station wagons. Hey, I can’t get thrown into a trunk if there is no trunk.
Prison. I am certain this can also be attributed to Lifetime television. But the thought of my hair without defrizz products for the next 30 years? No brow waxing either? Heaven help the inmates.
These far-fetched, “it could be worse” scenarios are not a permanent fix. Just a temporary diversion. A minor distraction from the bumps, bruises, stitches and broken bones I worry about. That I anticipate.
The irrational fears are simply my outlet. Part of a quick and quiet prayer where I ask, “Please watch over them. For I would be willing to endure all these terrible situations if it meant my Big Guy and Little Guy would escape childhood unscathed. Or at least without anymore ER visits.”
At that prayerful moment in time, I believe that Big Guy will get right back up after being knocked down. I am confident that Little Guy will sail through the air and land in the pool. Because while he was flying, I told myself that things could be worse.
I could be lost on a back road, where out of sheer panic, I pull over to ask for directions… only to be attacked by a hungry flock of seagulls…then rescued by what appears to be a kind stranger, but is actually a horrible, evil man…who throws me into the trunk of his car. …where in order to make my escape, I must inflict serious injury…and unfortunately, even though it was self-defense, I am ultimately sent to prison.
I know it’s a little bit crazy, but it’s my crazy.
Illyse appears every Thursday on TriangleMom2Mom.
Illyse Lane
Illyse is a TriangleMom2Mom featured blogger, appearing every Thursday.
She is a stay-at-home mom who also works as a freelance writer. She resides in Raleigh with her husband and two sons, ages 9 and 10.Originally from New York, Illyse fled the cold to attend Florida State University. After a brief return to life in the city, she relocated to Raleigh to work for GE Capital and has never looked back. Illyse is sure that as long as all the boys in her home continue to speak, she will have plenty of material to write about.
Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.
Comments
I understand the fear of physical harm. I used to look away as my kids did gymnastics fearing a broken bone with each flip. I tired so hard not to transmit my fears to my kids, whether it was fear of physical injury or fear of new places and new situations. We never know if we have been successful. I do love your mechanism for coping, very creative and funny!!
Also try what my mother told me. "Worry takes a great deal of energy and accomplishes little. You have plenty of time to worry if something really happens"
You are making me thankfully I ended up with 4 girls and only 1 boy haha!! There is so much to worry about. I think it's completely natural for moms to worry. We love these little people more than anything in the world. I have also found humor is the best way to deal with all life's little worries in the world of motherhood!
My son's first injury requiring stitches was a cut to his eyebrow, sustained because he WALKED BY a trampoline and tripped on the leg. I'm the mean trampoline Mom, not letting my kids jump on home trampolines (well, now that they are older I have relented and allowed them on the ones with mesh walls surrounding them.) Despite my vigilance with regard to bone crunching trampoline injuries, he STILL needed stitches because of a trampoline.
The doctor's office said they could do the stitches. They used numbing cream instead of novacaine needles. By the time they stitched, Rory was chatting up the nurses and being his charming self while they worked on his brow. Suddenly, I felt weird. I said to the nurse, "Is it hot in here?" Next thing you know, they were sweeping Rory off the table and me onto the table.
What a wimp! I almost passed out! And I'm the kind who watches when they draw my blood. I observe when they are putting my IV in. Apparently, my fearlessness over things medical and blood-related only extends to my body. Not my kids'!