a moms neurosis

I have come to a conclusion. My mother is one of the most wonderfully neurotic individuals on the planet. I love her to death, but she gets some strange thoughts in her head.

When I was young I could only sleep at a select few friends house. If I recall, maybe three, and not very often. Her reasoning “she liked to hear me breathing at night.” I guess if I slept at another’s house I would suddenly forget how to perform the most basic of human functions. She would worry about what type of shoes I was wearing; the wrong kind would not have enough support and would surely lead to flat feet in my adult years.

Sugar cereal was a definite no-no! I would look forward to the (very few) times I would sleep at a friends. They had a might treasury – Sugar Pops! I would savor every spoonful! In my mom’s defense, Harvey Milk was murdered by someone who used “the Twinkie” defense to get a light jail sentence. She must have been concerned I may have gone insane from sugar intake.

She would not allow me to be left unattended in her car until I was 15. This included 2 minute trips inside the convenient store. There is an abundance of kidnappers who are looking to abduct a gawky, smart mouthed 15 year old. And once I reached the glorious age to be left unattended, she always took the keys and made sure the doors were locked!

She has not outgrown these methods. They have been transferred to her grandchildren. I blogged about my son, she was very upset. She felt for certain someone would kidnap him.

Now that I am a mom, I see the apple does not fall far from the tree. I find myself worrying constantly about the smallest issues. Most are unfounded, but I cannot help myself.

Every morning when I put his shoes on I check to make sure they still fit. I cannot say for certain his feet did not grow 2 inches while sleeping. I listen to the monitor to ensure he is breathing. I overdress him to be sure he is warm. I inspect, sanitize and keep close watch on the smallest of scrapes; I do not want it to turn into a puss infested infection. When he bumps his head, I say a little prayer to myself that he has not caused irreversible brain damage. I keep close watch on everyone that comes near him. I trust no one!

I hope that as a mom, I am as neurotic, caring and strong as the woman who raised me.