I'm a writer.
I write things.
But only for an hour a day because I'm also a stay-at-home mom.
To a toddler.
Gmail me at ccr002
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I’m a high-anxiety parent. I imagine a million horrible scenarios. Where most people see a harmless toy I see CHOKING AND IMPALING HAZARD WITH SUFFOCATION ON THE SIDE! When we go to the indoor playground I watch that kid like a hawk. I let him play independently. I give him space. But he never leaves my sight. I am ready to swoop in the minute he needs me. I am overly cautious. It’s an issue.
But I let him play with my keys, which are like crack to him. I let him put the little mini library card attached to my keyring in his mouth. It’s half the size of a credit card. He’s not going to swallow it when I’m not looking. I let him sit in the shopping cart, suck-suck-sucking away, while I steer him up and down the aisles. And when some random lady stops me to tell me that letting my kid hold my keys is not safe? I am very polite, but firm in my conviction that I’ve got this.
Who knew? I didn’t. Not until the words were out of my mouth. I didn’t know, but I guess somewhere deep inside, I have faith in me. Somewhere deep inside I believe it:
He’s fine. I’m watching him.