I have never been a helicopter mom. I am more of a fly the helicopter yourself and I’ll be here watching just in case you crash it mom. Whatever the polar opposite of overprotective is, that is what I am. Free range mom, maybe? I’m not sure what the proper term is these days.
Anyway, most moms worry too much. If I could be accused of anything, it would likely be not worrying enough. I give my kids a lot of responsibility – probably too much – and I hope for the best. I believe there are but three building blocks in childhood education: reading, respect, and responsibility. Of course there is the overarching foundation of spiritual truths which hold it all together. Teach these things and you have a fighting chance of producing a respectful, responsible adult. At least that’s my philosophy and my goal.
The truth is, our children generally become what we are – at least partly.
In one week I will begin the ninth month of my fourth pregnancy – an unlikely pregnancy, that is. One that I’ve prayed and waited for. One that was never supposed to be.
Nevertheless, here I stand right smack dab in the middle of God’s grace. Still, I am apt to fear – free ranger and all. Like I said, I am not one much for worry and I tend not to dwell on things out of my hands. When it comes to a child – especially one never thought possible and nothing short of a miracle – the what if’s and the waiting sometimes seem to creep in, find a comfortable seat in the psyche, and overwhelm.
I have had three healthy pregnancies, three uncomplicated labors, and three beautifully healthy babies. I guess I expected the same this time around. But from thyroid issues to a (false?) positive birth defect screening to carpel tunnel to gestational diabetes – oh and let’s not forget that 70 pound weight gain – this one hasn’t been so non-eventful. I find myself repeating the words of the physician’s assistant in my mind.
“The blood work you have five weeks ago showed your sugar was abnormally high. Someone should have told you before this. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve had gestational diabetes. There is a chance the baby could be stillborn. She may have undeveloped lungs and breathing problems. She could be too large for natural delivery…”
While I still believe these things are unlikely, I find myself bracing for the worst. I ask my husband my what if questions. He quickly responds, “Whatever the Lord’s will is is good. It will be ok.”
“Easy for him to say,” I think to myself, “He hasn’t carried this baby. He hasn’t longed for her for years like me. He probably doesn’t really understand.” And in all my sinful worry, I fail to hear the truth. I know he is right, but I am afraid of what his rightness might turn out looking like. I am afraid to hope. I don’t want to be surprised by the worst. I want to be prepared. I don’t want to be disappointed. What I really want is control – control over circumstances in which I have no control. I want to be sovereign. I want to be god over my own life. I know that cannot happen. Even in all my non-policing mom-ish-ness, I am restless; agitated; fearful; faithless.
I need to pray. Instead I pace. I get up to write. I lay down to rest. I exercise. I avoid. Where is peace? Generally I walk alone, but today I wake the mechanic and ask him to walk with me. He gets up early and walks with me in the pouring rain. His small talk calms me. His willingness to sacrifice for me resets my thoughts. His selfless love reflects my Savior’s and I rest. He prays with me and I see Christ. I lean on his faith and confidence in God’s will. It is love that causes me to cease from sinful worry and unhelpful anxiety. Love covers a multitude of sins.
Take note exasperated husbands and helicopter moms, herein lies peace. Therefore, walk together.