Worse than a bubble wrap mom

I’ve been told I’m a worrier (I’m picturing my girlfriends spitting out their chardonnay at the understatement). Pick the topic, and odds are good I have some kind of concern or related anxiety.

I remember at the age of eight, my son practically growling at me with frustration as he blurted out “You’re a worrying-mom!” He was right. Or should I say, he IS right.

It’s been suggested that I’m a ‘bubble wrap’ parent. I’m not sure what that is exactly, but I’m guessing I’m something worse. Is there a notch up? Maybe a Styrofoam pellet mom, duct tape mom?

I’ve definitely loosened up over the years, but the hidden panic has never left. My friends laugh at the time I forbade my parents from driving my son while they babysat—because it was snowing. Thankfully, I come from a long line of worriers, and my mom had no intention of hitting the winter streets with her newborn, first grandchild. Especially, not with ice on the roads.

My son was the last of his friends to get rid of his car seat. He would shrink in his booster, humiliated, as I made certain he surpassed every legal requirement before tossing that safety net. His legs practically hit the floor—but he was boosted, and I was convinced he was safer than any of his buddies.

He had his floaties on too long, training wheels on too long, and wore every kind of protective padding on the market. The list is long and embarrassing for my poor kid who still struggles with a mom that would prefer to do everything for him.

No need to point out my failings on this one; I’m excruciatingly aware. And I’m doing my best to loosen up. I’m a work in progress.

My sense of worry, however, has never been more heightened than this week, as my baby boy travels solo for the first time – to Europe.  Thanks to the generosity of a crazy Brazilian that was my Rotary exchange student 20 years ago – my Shmoo has an opportunity of a lifetime touring Europe.  I’d love to tell you where they’re going, but that crazy Brazilian feels I need to learn a lesson about micromanaging. I am completely in the dark.

All I know is that I put my beloved first born on a train to Toronto, plane to Zurich, then a final flight to Hanover, Germany – where our dear Alex now lives. I’ll get back to you on Alex’s ‘dear’ status in two weeks.

I am perfectly aware how amazing this trip is for a young guy like my Shmoopykins.  I am also aware that he couldn’t be more safe than with Alex who is well-travelled and thinks of Shmoopy as a little brother.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I will spend the next 13 days worrying about terror attacks, car accidents, lost money, missing documents, plane crashes, and international crime.  I’ve seen ‘Taken’ –  and for anyone interested in bringing harm upon my first born, let it be known that I too have a particular set of skills. You’d be surprised what a mom can do with a combination of wine and insomnia. 

The good news is that I am choosing to channel this angst on my second born. Why waste this extra maternal neurosis when I have a 9 year old daughter just ripe for the picking?

If you haven’t been around a grade 4 classroom lately – it puts the movie ‘Mean Girls’ to shame.  I’ll use this opportunity to worry about her self-esteem and anti-bullying skills.  Buckle up beautiful girl – mama’s coming!!

If you find yourself obsessing about your little ones, or if you know of any terror alerts in Europe – please feel free to let me know.

I’ll keep everyone posted on Shmoopy – who’s 18 by the way.   #nomomshame.