The Fear of a Mother

When I was a little girl, my parents owned a book called, "Parenthood isn't for Cowards". I asked my mom one day what it meant. She said that it meant that being a parent meant not being afraid easily. I thought, well, that makes sense because you don't want to be scared when your kids tell you about their scary dreams. This obviously is not what she meant or what the book is about but as a seven year old, dreams were the scariest thing there was in my life. Aside from the idea of New Kids on The Block breaking up that is.

Now that I am a parent, I better understand the courage it takes to raise a little one. Heck, just keeping the kid alive seems like a huge accomplishment. I find myself constantly dreaming up new terrors just around the corner, sending me spiraling into panic. For instance, just a simple trip to the gas station to fill my car up with liquid gold, I mean gas, can start me shuddering with fear. As I stick the wallet shrinker, I mean gas pump, into my college fund destroyer, I mean car, I read a sign that we have all seen at least 400 times before. "Static electricity can cause explosions". Before Oliver was born I would have rolled my eyes at the idea that the only thing standing between me and certain fireball death is a Bounce sheet, but now, all that has changed.

Upon reading the warning, my mind shifts into Mama Bear mode. I start thinking, what if the baby shifts unexpectedly in such a way that he causes a spark to ignite the fumes that are almost certainly destroying the ever depleting ozone causing him to burst spontaneously into flames. Looking quickly to the window washer bucket I note that those 50,000 flies that have taken up residence in said bucket must have drank most of the water, leaving me with a burning baby with nothing to douse him with. Aha! I see there is a field to my left. I can surely grab the engulfed baby and run to the field, stopping, dropping and rolling with him, saving his crispy yet precious life. Then, just as my heart returns to normal I realize, yes, I may have saved him but I have also cursed him to a lifetime of scorn and ridicule as a wrinkled faced burn victim. What kind of life is that!?

As the rape is completed, I mean the pump turns off, I glance into the back seat. There he is, perfectly asleep and silently jamming out to the Aerosmith that plays far to loud for an infant on my radio. Crisis averted. I breathe a sigh of relief as I start the car and drive off, leaving the death trap in my dust. But wait, what is that?! A homeless person seems to be lurking in the shadows of the interstate. Is it me or does he look shifty? Wouldn't SHE like to have a prop baby to play on the sympathies of passersby! And so with a heavy heart and an active imagination, it starts again...