Mothering

 Do we ever stop worrying about our children? Even when they grow up and leave the nest we still find it difficult to break the worry habit.

It's not like we can go into their room anymore and make sure they haven't kicked off the covers, check to see that they are still breathing, or comfort them when they have nightmares. We can no longer be sure if they eat their vegetables or wear clean underwear. We can't even wait up until they come home safely, because we never know when or if they decide to go home.

Right after my son was born I childproofed my whole house. Everything that was once readily accessible was now about as easy to get to as the Hope Diamond. I put padlocks on all the cabinet doors, a combination lock on the toilet seat, and chains around the hot water taps. Whenever I needed  an aspirin for a headache I had to climb a 40 foot extension ladder to get it down from the attic.

In spite of all this homeland security, he still managed to hurt himself on a weekly basis. Once he pulled a hot iron off the ironing board on top of his little head...while I was ironing, he fell from a tree and broke his arm, hit his head on the corner of a table and had to get stitches, cut his little finger on a piece of glass (he found it in the neighbor's yard. I vacuumed my yard every day to prevent something like this from happening.) He got hit in the nose with a baseball, and pulled a hamstring while playing football.

This doesn't include all the minor injuries like skinned knees, busted lips, sprained ankles, etc. The kid was a walking accident. Whenever he was out of my sight playing in the yard I was a nervous wreck. It was like waiting to get goosed in the ribs. I knew that at any moment he could be injured. And whenever I heard him yelling I always went into a panic. If he got very quiet for a second or two I ran outside in search of him, certain that he had been kidnapped or had run away.

Each time he came rushing in through the back door I would run to him and twirl him around, checking for blood or broken bones.

I would be like, "Omigosh, are you okay? Where are you hurt?" and he'd be like "Good Lord, Mom, I just stopped by on my way to work for a cup of coffee..."

Once they have lived away from home for a few years you begin to trust them to take care of themselves, to be careful, to eat right and wear clean underwear, but you never stop being a mother even though they don't need us as much anymore. Mother's worry, because worrying lets us know they we're still needed. I suppose that's why we get dogs to help fill up the void left by our grown-up children.

And for some of us, if we are very lucky, it is now time to start all over again with our grandchildren.

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