“Eat your breakfast now,” I said to Baylee.
“So I can be home in case you choke.” I was getting ready to leave for work, and he would be alone all day.
I suppose that seems funny or over-the-top for some, but it’s our way of life. It’s not a chosen way of life, and maybe not even situational, but it’s tangible and constant.
When I say situational, I mean some would think we are worriers because of what happened to us, but it’s also genetic. I come from a long line of worriers, so our situation, so-to-speak, simply and complicatedly magnified and continues to magnify our worry.
If a dog limps, we go to the worst case scenario, and Heaven forbid they cough. That’s another story. We continuously suffer the consequences of our genes and happenings by living a life full of what-ifs. We have to put significant effort into enjoying life, celebrating, but we can and we do.
We party and swim and go to the beach. (Although I do stare at my man-children in case they need me to save them from drowning.) We have to put a little more effort into living and having fun, but we do.
Usually when a child turns into an adult, the parent stops telling them things like “Don’t cut yourself” or “chew slower” but I never hit that wall. I never stopped. I don’t think I will actually. Maybe I’m that mom who does get into the pilot’s seat and helicopters over their heads. If that’s what it takes to keep them safe, then so be it.
Just call me, Chopper Mom. (Very superheroesque. I need a cape.)