FRIDAY’S FOOD

Once you become a parent, your brain sometimes (usually) creates the most insane, ridiculous, humbling, and outrageous thoughts.

If I leave my infant daughter’s window open a crack tonight, is it possible that a raccoon, from the outside, can rip it open?  They DO have thumbs you know.

If I don’t put a sweater under that snowsuit and on top of that undershirt & long-sleeved shirt, will my child develop pneumonia?  And will the doctor think that I’m not a good parent?  Wait, get the blanket too.

Shit, I forget the sunscreen…that’s it, he’ll burn for sure, and then get sick, and then I will forever be the mother that didn’t protect her children, and all of the other parents probably put it on 15 minutes before they left the house.  One burn in childhood is deadly, right?

Can he eat french fries 5 days in a row?  Is that going to fuck him up?  Am I just setting him up for heart failure?  And she has a cold?  Does she have allergies?  I gave her peanut butter before she was a year old…is she going to die if she eats a peanut as an adult?

She’s not walking…is there a delay?  He can’t spell his name yet…should we contact the doctor for a referral to a Speech and Language Pathologist?

Let me google all my concerns…that will help.

And it often doesn’t…it really just makes a worried mother begin to look like a freak show.  Please.  You know it to be true.  I have, with vengeance, dedication, and tunnel vision, clung to ‘my research’ online to see just how ‘bad it could be’.  I’m ordinarily a level-headed (albeit largely impulsive!) woman who has been well-educated, and yet something in me frays when someone is hurt, sick, or worried.   I know I’m not the only one…

A worried mother does better research than the FBI.  This week, my son hit his head, twice.  The first time, a bump formed quickly.  I’ve been a mother for over 6 years, and am all too familiar with bumps to the head.  And everything in my educated brain was telling me that he would be fine (which he was), but that didn’t stop me from heading to the computer to look up ‘head injuries’. That’s not a good search topic, btw.  I asked him questions following the bump, looked in his eyes, checked for crying and tears, watched him walk…and yet I still went into his room every hour or so to somewhat rouse him, to get some response.  And he would roll over, or open his eyes, or mumble under his breath, or reach for his bear.  Every time.  In fact, I’m certain the poor boy got very little sleep.  I know this because I didn’t sleep a wink.

But it’s my job.  I was Just checking.

Google made me to do it.

Enjoy Your Moments with The Ones who Make Your Memories.

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