I'm Worried About My Worrying

Photo credit: Google Images

Recently, my friend posted an Instagram photo of her children that brought me back a decade to a time when my three children were little and life was full of firsts. In my friend’s photo, her two daughters sit on the edge of a swimming pool with two other children, while their swim instructor stands in front of them, chest-deep in the water. A lifeguard carrying a long rescue tube stands guard less than two feet behind the children. In the caption, my friend joked that she was afraid if she took her eyes off her girls they would drown, even though there were two lifeguards within arm’s length of both of them. This resonated with me as I recalled my children’s swim lessons; during their classes, I would sit on the bench next to the pool, hyper alert and laser focused, ready to jump in and save them. Instead of enjoying watching my babies learn a skill that would bring them pleasure for the rest of their lives, I thought of a thousand things that could go wrong. I was afraid that they would drown in the shallow end, surrounded by seven trained lifeguards and twenty observant parents.

                                                      Photo credit: Google Images

How many parents can relate to that deep-seated fear that we laughingly acknowledge as irrational paranoia, but that paralyzes us even still? I love the commercial that shows the well-meaning mother wrapping her son up in bubble wrap and putting a helmet on his head before letting him go outside to play. I laugh in embarrassment because I have been that mom, and I roll my eyes in resentment because I have also been the bubble-wrapped kid.

Now that my kids are 13, 15, and 17, I like to think the age of worry has passed, and that I’ve moved on to more sophisticated ways of screwing up my children. This summer, I had the chance to find out if I’ve overcome my affliction when my 15-year-old son asked me the following question:

“Mom, Can I go to an end-of-the-year bonfire at Justin’s house on Long Lake?”

[In a fraction of a second my mind processed the following rambling, uninvited thoughts:]

What did you just say to me? Are you insane? I’ve never even met this kid. You think I would send you to his house before I meet his parents and conduct a thorough background check? Besides, do you know how many people suffer third degree burns from bonfires each year not to mention all the people who burn to death? I read that burning to death is the worst possible way to die. I saw a re-enactment of the Salem witch trials and it was horrifying to watch them burn. What if that happened to you—burning to death from your toes up like a witch—how could I live with myself knowing that your last moments on earth were filled with agony and terror and that you called for your mommy but I wasn’t there? And do you even remember how to properly light a match so that you don’t burn your fingertips? What if you accidentally lit the whole book of matches on fire and it went up in flames and scorched your face? Lighters are worse, they can explode in your hand; they’re tiny tanks of highly explosive gas just waiting to blow your fingers off. Maybe we should have a quick refresher on fire safety. What if this kid’s dad is a child molester or his mom offers you meth? Wait, are his parents even going to be there? Kids might be drinking and then go swimming drunk and you could drown and drowning is a horrible way to go, too. Or, you could get hypothermia and lose your feet. I saw a man on TV who had frost bite and his feet turned black. Why don’t you just wait to swim when a lifeguard is on duty? And not at the lake either, I’ll take you to a pool so I can keep an eye on you, too. What if you went under while the guard was looking somewhere else? Will there be girls at this party? What if a girl tries to kiss you? I don’t even know her family and I don’t want to share my grandbaby with a bunch of crazy strangers, and what if she’ll be a bad mother to my grandkids? If she has even one bathroom-duckface selfie on her Facebook you’re not allowed to date her. Oh sweet Jesus, what if someone tries to kill you because they find out you’re a Christian? What if they force you to rob a bank or beat up a homeless man as initiation into their gang? What if they TEASE you? Nope, I think it’s best if you just stay here where Dad and I can keep you safe in our completely normal, perfectly sane home.

But what I said was, “Sure, bud. A bonfire sounds like fun.”

So maybe the worry isn’t gone. Maybe it never will be. Maybe I need therapy. But the point is, I hope the bonfire doesn’t melt the bubble wrap to his skin.