This parenting stuff. Easy peasy right?
NO.
I’m so thankful for you crazy muthas. Yesterday I blogged about how I thought I had some sort of mental disturbance because I’ve been secretly freaked out about my kids dying. I really didn’t even let on to the true nature of my frightfulness because I didn’t want anyone to call the muscled guys at the mental institution and tell them to trick me into the van.
Your responseshave changed my life. I’m not kidding. And so, in the spirit of the therapeutic nature of this here blog of mine, I will release my frightfulness into the blogosphere and then file this away under, “Other things they don’t tell you about or you would never have kids. Or sex.”
When I pull up at school, if big darling is not at the gate, I assume he is bleeding to death through his nose. He gets a lot of nosebleeds. I assume that they didn’t call me because they were too busy calling 911. And while I’m sitting there at the gate, they are in front of the school loading his bloodless body into an ambulance.
If middle darling is not at the gate, I assume he has been kidnapped. Yep. I immediately think that he has been lured by a sexual predator into the back of a van full of kitty cats and lollipops.
Little darling likes to sneak into my bed at night. If he doesn’t, I know it’s because he’s dead. He’s little enough that he could have all sorts of undiagnosed illnesses that I don’t know about yet. I’m pretty sure he might be diabetic. Big darling might have Marfan’s Syndrome too.
The first time I put big darling in his backwards facing car seat as a 6 lb infant and drove off, I was hysterical. I pulled over twice. Did these crazy facks actually expect me to drive without looking at him? DANGEROUS. Infants do not breathe unless you watch them breathe. Gheez! Idiots!
When middle darling was born, big darling was old enough to tell me whether he was pink or blue. They sat side by side in the backseat, and I would say this, about every five minutes. “What’s the baby doing? Is he pink? Or blue?” Thankfully big darling always reported that he was pink.
And what kinds of assholes build balconies these days? On every vacation to the beach, I would walk in the condo and rip open that big curtain to inspect the balcony. I always imagined that the construction workers were alcoholics, and some of the nuts and bolts would be faulty. Then I’d have to drag my littlest kid to the balcony to see if his head could actually squeeze through the rails. I’d have to drag all the furniture far away from the balcony, of course. My boys will quickly tell you how you can die from accidentally falling over a balcony. If they so much as got near a chair on the balcony, the others would tackle the chair toucher. Yes indeed. That’s how I raise ‘em.
Don’t even get me started on falling down onto sharp surfaces. Little darling once busted his head open, resulting in a scary ER trip with blood gushing everywhere. I was sure he was dying on the way to the hospital, so I started yelling to just run the red lights, because he was going into a coma. It never occurred to me he was just sleeping because it was past his bedtime.
Now little darling isn’t allowed to run near anything. I’m constantly screaming, “You could fall on that and die!”
Sometimes when they are playing outside they scream like they are dying. Blood curdling, hysterical screams. When I rip open the door, I am not breathing, I’m in full blown cardiac arrest, and I know full well I will see a child with his arm completely cut off and laying mangled on the ground. I have actually punished them for this before.
After I blogged yesterday, one of my friends texted me to say that in addition to the horrible visions, her intuition and instincts are so strong, that she is afraid this will make some of them come true. Several of you commented about that as well.
I am so with you there, muthas. My intuition is so strong I’m also secretly scared I’m a witch. I am right way too many times. I have had premonitions. I mean seriously, I might be controlling people with my mind.
Just in case I am, I should be directing what I need my way, right? In that case I just need enough money to stay home and take care of my kids. Don’t need to be rich or famous or any of that. I just want to be a mama. Because even though it has turned me into a crazy, frightful lunatic, apparently I’m in good company.
