I was over at my grandparents house yesterday with Georgia and Hugh. Hugh was particularly rambunctious and climbing all over me, giving me hugs and kisses. At one point he was standing between my legs and he arched his head back (thinking I was holding onto him) flipping right onto his head. I watched it in slow motion knowing that he was falling and I was RIGHT THERE, but I couldn't catch him in time. He banged his head, screamed, and I felt like the WORST MOM EVER. I was thinking about the incident later and realized that this is only the beginning of me watching my kids fall (and not being able to stop it). And I don't just mean on the playground.
I know that they have to fall if they ever want to learn how to pick themselves back up, but that isn't going to make my heart break any less when it does happen. I think I'm going to have a very difficult time watching my kids go out into the world knowing that I won't always be there to protect them. However, I will always be there to kiss their boo-boos. You know that creepy book about the mother who crawls into her grown son's bedroom so that she can rock him after a bad day (Love You Forever)? That's going to be me.