I didn't realize how much I was teetering on the brink of my emotional levee until I drove past a group of kids today on the way to the gym and witnessed something that brought out the MOM in me, the MOM I didn't know but hoped existed.
And then I parked my car outside of my gym and sent a message to Twitter and cried.
I saw some boys hitting another boy. These were young kids, like, pre-pubescent. (Horrible word, I know. Right up there with Clitoris and Vulva.) I was at a red light just beyond where they had shed their backpacks and circled some little kid who was backing away, supposedly, in fear. I almost got out of my car but I am a wee little lady and while my muscular-150-MOM-pounds can totally take a ten year old, it cannot take seven-10-year olds. Who might have guns.
I did do something. I called the police. After this week I should have them on speed-dial. They seemed worried and asked if I saw weapons. I did not. They said they would check it out immediately.
I drove away feeling overwhelmed and the incredible urge to hold my son.
I didn't realize until this moment that I was feeling so vulnerable, so fragile. It explains the three panic attacks I have had this week.
Being a parent is hard. Anyone who doesn't admit that has a secret stash of meth in the mornings and valium at night. I have experienced happier highs and lower lows since Noah was born than ever before.
And I actually love how human it makes me feel.
Upon super close-up you can note the appearance of not one, but two, TWO, bottom teeth just north of that lower lip. MAH BABY, HE IS GROWING UP.