I assume the resting state of all parents is restrained worry.
Worry for our kids’ safety.
Worry for their health.
Worry for their future.
Worry for their joy.
So much worry.
We want them to succeed, to reach their goals, but we mostly just want them to be happy, whatever that means for them.
And whatever that means for us.
We keep defining their happiness.
And the world tells us to Let Go, whatever that means to the world.
I’m really not sure I can.
As I sat in the audience tonight, watching Wonder dance his Oompa Loompa dance, I was nervous, shifting in my seat, on sensory overload.
But as I watched his laughter, and his very studied stomping and clapping, I couldn’t help the joy creeping in, pushing away the nervousness, the worry. I couldn’t help seeing him.
How lucky am I to be his mom; to sit in the backseat on the way home, eating a bar of chocolate while he tells dad about the gap between the kids and how he just wanted them to hurry up. His worry is so contained. So specific.
I want to keep it that way.
I don’t want him to pull back into the bigness of the world and find all the things that he could care about and notice and suddenly be very responsible for.
I want him to stomp with specificity and a very particular rhythm, and I want his wig to be crooked on his head.
I want a simple kind of happiness for him, and I’ll keep the worry for me.
Keep creating,
Kate