worry me

Yes, I am still breathing. I'm not just talking the involuntary muscle contractions that our oh-so-smart bodies do each moment bringing life to ourselves. No, I'm talking the stop-&-breathe-before-you-say (or do)-something-foolish sort of breath. The one where I stop dead in my tracks and my beautiful 3 yr old says "ok Mom, 1,2,3...." A better habit to teach her I suppose than slamming doors or screaming those good ole cuss words I love so much.

So we are breathing and yet still stressing about how the heck to handle parenting a smart a*s like mine. 3 years old and going on 14. Talks back, says no. All the things I really didn't think I would need to deal with for a while. By then, I was sure, I would have a nice little drinking regimen that I could turn to when the going got tough. No. No gin & tonics for me, just ice water thank you. A nice cold beer would be wonderful, except I would feel too bloated to breath deeply when needed. So, I read the Supernanny and the rest of the experts, and just like weight loss, it's not that I don't know what to do, it's just those nasty little habits we settle into. Like being too tired to deal with it, or worrying more about how this reflects on me than about what lesson my child might be learning.

Yes indeed, I worry, a worry-a-holic I guess would be the correct diagnosis. If there is nothing to worry about, I can create it. Maybe, after a breath and a drink I will see that we all really suck at parenting and there really are no experts - in fact, I do not think that all the "experts" have children of their own, do they???

We go by our guts, make mistakes, and move the heck on with worrying about something else.