I know the Lord tells us not to worry or be anxious, so I've been trying to cast my burdens on Him during the day when I catch myself fretting about something. Today I decided I was going to compile a list of my most common anxieties. After I made said list, I realized the ridiculousness of some of the things I constantly think about. And because I'm all about blowing my cool cover and spilling my guts, you're going to be privy to a few of the more entertaining worries.
- I worry that G is going to give himself a concussion on any object that doesn't have padding around it now that he has exhibited a need to scale the walls ala Spiderman.
- I worry that G is going to find something like a penny on the floor, swallow it and then have to be rushed to the ER where the doctors will scold me about not being careful with my son's digestive track and my family's income.
- I worry that bugs will invade my house if all of the dishes are not cleared from the counter and sink; then I worry that the same said bugs will bite G. Repeat the part about going to the ER and being scolded for attracting the bugs to my house by not having all of the dishes washed in a timely manner.
- I worry that I don't read/sing/play/sign enough with G and that he will feel like his childhood was spent entertaining himself by ripping up the latest Bradley Hilltopics magazine. I then worry that when it comes time for completing college applications, G will have flashbacks to his babyhood and write about how he had to be self sufficient and tend to his own needs while his mother obsessively researched low-toxicity brands of paint. Of course, he will leave out the part about why his mother would have to research toxin-free paint because he won't remember that as a baby he decided that mouthing the walls and chewing on the corners of the walls was part of his daily explorations.
- I worry that when G decides to scream for more than two minutes about something that I've done that isn't fair in his baby eyes that the neighbors will call DCFS and report that I am a bad mother who lets her child scream uncontrollably.
- I worry that G's squawks will be misinterpreted as that of a rather large bird and the neighbors will call animal welfare services. I worry that animal welfare services people will come to my home, find I don't have a bird, realize it was the baby making that noise and then proceed to call DCFS because what kind of mother lets her child squawk like a dying bird for hours on end?
And the list goes on and on and on. I'm surprised I don't have more wrinkles. Oh, great. Now that I'm 25 I suppose I better add worrying about worry-induced wrinkles to the list of the things I shouldn't be worrying about. ;)