Saturday, October 16, 2010

Mom's my name, worrying's my game

I've decided motherhood is all about worrying. I used to not worry much. I figured whatever was supposed to happen would happen. Ok, I lied. I used to worry a lot before I had kids too. But I kept it to myself. I didn't figure it really mattered if what I was worrying about happened or not. I'd deal with it or not. I'd figure something out or not. I'd live through it or not.

But now that I have kids, everything seems monumental. Like soccer practice. Two of my three children have been injured at soccer practice so that a trip to the ER was required. I feel like an idiot saying things like, "Don't walk near that bench because you might trip and fall." Thinking that if you trip and fall and your eye hits the corner of the bench and splits it open we'll have to spend the next six hours in the Emergency Room waiting to get your stitches. And if that isn't enough to worry about, I will also be worrying the whole time that:

A. Your father is at home feeding your brother and sister Skittles and Red Pop for dinner.

B. That kid who's hacking up a lung on the other side of the waiting room is going to want to wander over here and play with you, infecting you with something that will spread through our household like brush fire.

C. That we'll be here hours past your bedtime and therefore throw off your sleeping schedule for a week making you cranky and me darn near unbearable.

D. That I'm going to miss Gray's Anatomy, which will make me even more than unbearable.

So instead, I just say "Be careful!" and try to look the other way. Hoping no one cracks their head open, falls and breaks an arm, or eats any berries from those bushes lining the soccer field. Really, Mommy just needs to make it to Gray's Anatomy without any serious injuries. Please?