Do you worry about your kids?  Even when they are grown?  Even when they are adults?  Even when they have jobs and don’t live at home anymore?

 

When do I quit worrying?  Never.  From the moment she took her first breath, I worried….not that I would do something terribly wrong, but that I wouldn’t know enough to be a good mother.  All through the time she was a baby, I got up at night to listen to her breathe. To make sure all was well.  When she wore that harness for tight hips and cried all night, I slept on the floor next to her crib patting her back comforting her.  And, I worried.

 

When she was a toddler and her feet hit the floor upstairs at night, I jumped up and raced to the open-faced stairwell to make sure she didn’t fall while sleepwalking. 

 

When she had to play with all of those boys because there weren’t any girls around, I worried about her self-concept then.

 

When she drove to high school on Hwy 183 everyday in the awful traffic because there wasn’t a school near the house, I worried.  When she swam on the swim team, I held my breath as she deftly maneuvered her way through the ice water winning her events….and I worried.

 

When I took her to college, and left her in the dorm as she anxiously awaited the start of her term, I worried.

 

Now, she’s moved away.  She’s all grown up.  She’s on her own and she’s still on my mind.  I’m not worried that she’s not capable of handling all of the trials and crap life can hand over.  I am confident that she can maneuver through a room full of sharks and emerge with a smile on her face.  Her intelligence and cunning would put anyone to shame as she faces life. Her work skills and emotional intelligence are superior to other women her age.  Did I forget to mention how beautiful and creative she is?

 

So, really, I’m not worried so much for her now.   I miss her and hope she knows how much I love her.        Momma