I am cursed blessed with very active children.
Every chair is a launch off point.
Every railing, tree branch, and table a perch to conquered.
At first, I wanted to wrap my son in bubble wrap.
After months of performing the role of Helicopter Mommy, I concluded my son needed free reign to explore his world, and vowed to “spot” him during the I Want To Give Mommy a Heart Attack moments.
The Lil Diva was grandfathered into this rule, experiencing far less of Helicopter Mommy and more of Try to Keep Big Brother From Killing Her Mommy.
My children explore everything.
Usually, they are cats, miraculously landing on their feet or with only the most minor of concussions*.
Sometimes, they are not so lucky, calling for Mommy’s Magical Kiss and Snuggle Powers To Make It Better.
I hate those moments, as my child’s tears drench my shirt – wanting to take their pain away.
I cherish those moments too, realizing someday my children will develop immunity to this power – a simple cuddle no longer enough to heal them – to “fix it”.
My children run, climb, dive bomb, tackle, and fall. I watch them grow – using my Super Mommy Skills to help them along the way, praying they never become fully obsolete.
Mommy disclaimers: Sorry for the sappiness today. As a precaution, if you speak to me, nod your head in agreement with whatever I say. Just to be safe.
*To my knowledge, neither of my children have suffered any form of a concussion.