I never imagined I would become a hovering parent. If you had asked me during my pregnancy how I envisioned raising my children, I would have shared whimsical stories about them playing barefoot in the grass, climbing trees, and enjoying carefree adventures on their bicycles. I saw my kids wrestling with each other in the yard, scraping their knees, and sipping from the garden hose, just like I did as a child.
Back then, I was certain about one thing: I wouldn’t be the overprotective type. I admired parents who allowed their kids to roam freely, like wild animals in a field. I would watch with envy as their children swung confidently from the monkey bars while I paced nervously beneath them. Those relaxed moms, comfortably perched on park benches, seemed like superheroes to me. I always thought I would join their ranks.
But the reality is quite different. I find myself hovering constantly. If there were a level beyond helicopter parent, that would be me. Whenever my mother-in-law wants to buckle my kids into their car seats, I’m right there, fussing over chest clip placements and testing the tightness of the straps. At playdates, if grapes are served, I’m the one swooping in to slice them in half—or quarters, just to be extra cautious.
When my eldest son plays with his baby sister, I’m always there, anxiously barking instructions. “Be gentle! Don’t pull her arm like that! Watch out for that toy—your sister could get hurt!” I had envisioned my children as fearless explorers, swinging from playground equipment, but my anxiety has made that impossible. Instead, I’m the “spotter mom,” always ready to leap in to prevent any accidents.
My friends and family find humor in my transformation. They can’t believe that the most easygoing person in our circle has turned into this overly cautious mom, obsessing over how her four-year-old eats grapes. “Relax, Jess,” they chuckle, “it’s just a jungle gym. No one’s going to die.” I feel embarrassed, even ashamed. I wish I could be more laid-back, but I can’t.
The moment my first child was born, it felt like my mind went into overdrive. Suddenly, the world was no longer a safe place filled with rainbows and butterflies; it became a terrifying realm fraught with dangers that could harm my children. Every car on the road and every large grape became a potential threat that I needed to guard against.
I know how irrational this sounds, but I can’t change the way my brain works. My parenting decisions stem from primal fears that are very real to me. Despite my efforts to manage these feelings, they persist. Tragic stories I come across online—like a toddler choking on a grape or a child dying in a car accident—flood my mind, reinforcing my worst fears. No level of therapy or medication can erase those headlines from my thoughts.
I’m constantly on alert, striving to keep my children safe. My choices may differ from those of other moms, and I know they think it’s excessive. But the truth is, my kids won’t be eating quartered grapes forever. My pregnant self longed to be that relaxed, carefree mother sitting on the bench, but anxiety has made that nearly impossible.
Some of us are just naturally anxious parents, and you know what? Our children will be okay. So, please, don’t mock my hovering. It’s my anxiety making me this way. I’m doing the best I can.
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Summary:
This article explores the struggles of a parent dealing with anxiety, transforming her into a hovering figure rather than the carefree mom she envisioned. Despite the humorous reactions of friends and family, she grapples with the fears that come with motherhood and the constant desire to keep her children safe. Ultimately, she seeks understanding and support rather than judgment for her protective nature.