It only takes a moment. That’s why we fret.
We invest in cars with top-notch safety ratings and spend hours researching car seats and safety standards from the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety. We cushion the sharp edges of tables and secure the cabinets where we stash the cleaning supplies. We lay them down on their backs and remove the bumpers from cribs. We buy baby gates. We grasp their tiny hands as they dash across uneven ground. We equip them with bike helmets, knee pads, and elbow guards. We choose to live in neighborhoods that are family-friendly, with reputable schools and low crime, even if it stretches our budget. We opt for organic milk and wholesome snacks. We take them to the doctor for vaccinations and flu shots. We teach them to look both ways before crossing the street. We ensure we meet their friends’ parents before agreeing to a playdate. We give them cell phones so they can reach us whenever they need, and we can reach them, too.
We talk about peer pressure and the importance of making smart choices. We spend weekends in empty parking lots, our lone car surrounded by orange traffic cones, wanting to doze off in the passenger seat but too anxious to relinquish control. We clarify their curfews and ensure they stick to their plans. We encourage them to stay home. We discuss drugs, consent, and how to safeguard their drinks, reminding them that they can always call us if they need anything, no matter the hour. We meet their roommates and wish we could have met their roommates’ parents too.
Then we drive home—alone—back to a house that once had cabinet locks, bumpers on table edges, and bikes in the garage. Sometimes, the doorbell rings in the dead of night, and we discover that the car with those supposedly safe airbags couldn’t shield our child from a drunk driver. Other times, we receive a call from the school about an accident—they’re so sorry, they can’t explain how it happened—and we rush to the hospital, praying we’re not too late. Sometimes, we’re right there, and they start to choke, and no matter what we do, we can’t stop it. And sometimes they just stop breathing, for reasons unknown.
We understand that it only takes a second for everything to change. Despite our helmets, knee pads, cell phones, and open dialogues, we realize we don’t truly control how our children’s lives will unfold. That’s why we worry. That’s why we’ll always worry.
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In summary, parenting is a constant balancing act between keeping our children safe and recognizing the limits of our control. Our worries stem from love and a desire to protect them, even when we know that life can change in an instant.