Monday, July 19, 2010

How old is old enough?

The Man and I are at an impasse.
We are on opposite sides of our children's ages.
He thinks they are older, more mature, more responsible than I do.
I see small children who have no fear, no understanding, and no concept of anything being unsafe for them.
They are Super Heathens.
Capable of bringing mom to her knees with a high pitched shriek.
Able to bound from couch to couch for indeterminate lengths of time before someone catches them.
But still infinitely breakable and fragile, even as they hang from mutant monkey toes off the ceiling fan.
They are my babies.
And I still see them as such.
So when I feel my mommy sense started tingling, I gather my babies to my breast and start snarling.
At the world. At the universe. At my husband.
My snarling doesn't discriminate.
The Man wants to take our boys camping.
Near water. And woods. And maniacs and bears and rabid skunks and bugs and oh my!
My boys do not know how to swim. It is on my agenda. But construction pushed my agenda back this year. So I start hyperventilating when my kids approach water not contained within a bathtub or a wading pool.
And with Bug's recent foray into AS, I am concerned about his ability to listen and follow directions and not wander off to be raised by wolves.
The Man Doesn't see it. He has no womb, and the man parts just don't clench at the thought of "Danger, heathen children! Danger!"
So we argue. And we debate. And I lay out my reasons in a calm, confident manner that involves clutching my children and backing into a corner where I snarl and foam at the mouth.
Because that's the kind of mom I am.
That's me.

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