I taught my child a new word yesterday, and it wasn’t a good one. While I do my best to keep such words to myself there are times that they come out anyway. Yesterday he brought me a bottle of medicine (which had been stored too high for him to get to) and opened it right in front of me (even though it was “child proof”). The word slipped out and my child regarded me with a skeptical eye. “Mommy say a bad word?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Mommy said a bad word.” He let it go because I had told the truth, but still he had the look of mommy is crazy in his expression.
I’m Crazy With Worry
The truth is I can’t let worry go when it comes to my babies. It’s severe. It comes from mommy imagination. Like what happened yesterday, except while I’m in the bathroom. I imagine chairs being dragged to a counter and used for climbing. He could fall. He could break his arm/leg/neck. I imagine the contents of the upper shelves. He could get into cleaning solutions/ medicines/sharp objects. I can see in my mind’s eye the end result very clearly. At times it has made me cry before I remember I’m just imagining and resolve to take all steps possible to prevent it.