Insert Fear Here.

She’s fearless.  A sentiment used often to describe my baby girl; by me, by her grandparents, my friends.  And for the most part, she is.  I’ve loved that about her-the way she approaches things with boldness in her eyes I can’t really explain.  It makes her seem so free, that there is no hesitation in anything she does.  Except now it scares me. 

She talks to strangers like they are old besties and is far too friendly to people that are friendly towards her.  She had started off a little shy, with me having to coax her into smiling or waving to someone that interacted with her as a baby and young toddler but now I feel like we have to do a 180 and head in the opposite direction with me telling her she absolutely can not talk to strangers, that she should be afraid of people.  I wish there could a middle ground but I'm learning, as with everything involving a four-year-old, no such ground exists.

My cousin and his family came to visit this weekend and we had a great time, leaving all of us exhausted and content.  We visited the annual fair around here and stayed up late, riding rides and filling our bellies with greasy fries covered in cheese, bacon, and served in a paper dog bowl and sugary cotton candy and lemonade.  It was incredibly crowded which made me anxious and on edge, if my eyes went off any of the kids for even a second I panicked.  While the whole traveling fair-scene has always been a bit creepy to me it reached an all time high (or low, really) when I took Kennedy on a ride.  The operator was a man that was overly friendly, talkative, and just gave off an overall creepy vibe.  My little duck, off course, was not picking up on this and was smiling and talking and excitedly joking around, which he seemed to be eating up.  While we entered the ride, I picked her up, strapped her in, and he never came in contact with either one of us.  When we exited the ride Kennedy got confused, thought he was me as we were exiting, and she grabbed onto his shorts.  The look he gave, meant for her but that I intercepted, went right through me.  I felt ill.  Nothing happened. I repeat: NOTHING HAPPENED.  But the dark parts of my mind went right to work and I thought: he easily could have been a pervert, a really bad guy, and he could have hurt her or done something that would have been inappropriate but she made not have even known it had I not been right there with her.  And were there other kids, kids whose parents weren’t right there? I could have vomited. 

And so what did I do?  I went on the next ride with her and I talked to her.  I scared her.  I scared her into understanding that not everyone is a good person; that there are people that could hurt you even though they pretend to be nice and friendly.  She asked the usual questions: How? Why? Who? I had to draw a line in regards to how scared I could make her but I had to make sure she understood as best she could at four.  Was it the best route to take with a little kid?  Who knows but I had to make a decision, a decision that would no longer allow her to feel so free and comfortable in her surroundings and that broke my heart a little.  Yet the fear that I was feeling while seeing how vulnerable a child can be when they are inherently too trusting overrode the joy I felt and feel in regards to her freedom.

Her boundaries need work and it doesn’t help trying to explain to her that some strangers are all right to talk to and others aren’t and as with most parenting lessons I flounder and look to others for a little guidance. As she gets older we will find a balance.  But I will watch her like a hawk for as long as I can get away with it and pray like mad that when I no longer can that her gut will take over and lead her in the right direction, should she ever find herself in a situation that feels off.  I pray she learns that that kind of perceptiveness brings a freedom all of its own.  My hope is that this bit of fear I’ve planted takes hold but does not take over; that she may be a bit more guarded with her smiles until someone has earned them as well as her trust.  I hope she will still dive into situations headfirst but only after she does a quick check to make sure it’s safe.   

A few more shots of the weekend fun…

And now, I sleep. 

Tiny Battles

Lately, I feel like everywhere I look on my social media outlets I see moms that are nailing it; happy kids, smile on their faces, loving every minute of what’s taking place.  I hate those mamas.  No, not true- I love most of them very dearly and admire all of them.  Lately though, as a mom, I feel like (excuse my French!) A. F*cking. Mess.  Seriously, I’m a disaster.  I’m in desperate need of that guy that does voice overs for the Johnson & Johnson baby wash commercials to tell me I’m doing a good job (you know the one!).  However I could not star in said commercial with said voiceover, nor could my kid.  For those commercials to do their inspirational duties the people should look like my social media tribe not like it looks in my house lately:  yelling, frazzled, frustrated, sometimes crying mom and pouting, shouting, hands-on-hips, humphing child- no one enjoying the others company very much. 

I’ve gone back to work and the working mom gig is upon me with a vengeance.  I wake up earlier than I need to for the fear of running late, get ready as quietly as I can so I don’t wake Kennedy.  If I wake her, I have to multitask getting ready and attending to her which inevitable leads to me rushing around and running behind, getting frustrated with her when she gets frustrated with me for various reasons.  I leave her with Sean’s mom for the day and unwind on my way into work-just in time to get wound back up at work.  I usually battle some form of traffic, get Kennedy from my mother-in-law’s house, and drive home while she asks me, “What do you want to do fun when we get home?”   Knowing we usually have something to do that she will no doubt think is the exact opposite of fun; I avoid answering her questions and the whining and tears that will follow until we make it through the door.

Then the fun really begins. 

I ask her to do something-put away a toy, sit at the table for dinner, eat just a tiny bit of what we’ve made, take her bath, let me brush her hair- and she loses her mind and then I lose my mind and down we spiral.  It usually ends with her going to her room, but not before I’ve yelled, then remember to count her, but end up yelling when she just counts back at me.  The grand finale is when she tells me she just wants Sean’s mom because all I do is yell at her.  Then I lie in bed and wonder what damage I’ve done with her.  Really.  Long-term memories are now being formed in her little mind and I am really nervous about what will be getting stored and how I will look to her when she remembers.

 I don’t want to battle her.  Not a four anyway.  I know what is coming down the road- that I was preparing for eventually but I grossly underestimated the toddler/preschool years.  

This past Friday, I lost it.  A very good friend and co-worker of mind just happened to ask a small-talk question about my little girl and I just lost it.  I was a crying mess.  I love my kid, like in an I’ve-lost-a-child-and-know-how-precious-they-are kind of way.  But the truth is I am struggling lately.  I feel this immense amount of guilt sometimes because I feel like a mother in my shoes shouldn’t complain about her only surviving child.  My friend, calm and collected as it is, put it very matter-of-factly, “you have to schedule time with her,” she told me.  “Give her ten uninterrupted minutes, no phone, nothing.  It will make a difference.”  And it did.  We played hockey outside, laughed at Snap Chat selfies we took, and read a few books snuggled in her bed.  No tears, no yelling.   And then I felt even worse.  All this kid wanted, no, NEEDED from me was ten minutes and I hadn’t been giving her that?  I mean, COME ON.  And who has to schedule in time for their child in their day?  This lady, right here.   And so I’ll do it.  All of the tears, from both of us, that could have been avoided if I just remembered to put everything else on hold for 10 minutes; work, housework, grieving, Sean, all of it.  Because I have done my best to keep my head above water for my baby girl this past year and a half but I owe her better than I’ve been giving.

I caught a few smiles on our trip to Long Island, but they were few and far between and I was reduced to taking a picture of her sleeping (after she had a melt down and passed out).  Now I know what you are all thinking, People only post pictures of the good times, the smiles.  That’s all fine and well and I know deep down that, for the most part, is true but I need to find a gaggle of hot-mess moms that post pictures of their mom-fails.  Now that’s my tribe.  In fact I may be their long lost chief.

We’ve got some fun planned for the weekend and I’m hoping for a few more smiles from all of us. 

Gotta run….my ten minutes is calling.