Just a day in the park

Have you ever been to a playground and there is a mother who gasps when her child gets near that invisible line between the safe zone and the brink of broken bones?

Yeah, that lady is me.

I gasp.

Specifically, I gasped last week while watching my son do the “I wanna break a bone” dance on a piece of playground equipment. Of course, this would not be blog-worthy had I not received the condescending, you-must-be-new-to-this sideways glance of a smug mom. She was sitting sipping her jumbo sized diet Coke from a ridiculously far away park bench on the edge of the rubber mulch. Unfortunately, she was close enough to hear me momentarily suck in all available oxygen as Hudson walked backwards near the edge of the third platform on his way to the slide. I hated myself for freaking out, but I am not in control of such impulses.

I am one of those moms. I stress out. I had no idea that pieces of playground equipment were the instrument of terror that they are. Who designed these skyscrapers without sides and ungated ladders? What is a firemen’s pole doing on a toddler’s toy anyway?

At least I am not selfish, I worry about other kids too. Yet little man requires pretty much full-time attention at this point. I will shamelessly hover around both under and on the jungle gyms until I think he is able to pay closer attention to what he is doing. Or until he starts kindergarten. Whichever comes first.

So smug mom gives me this glance and I feel all stupid; yet I secretly envy/despise her ability to relax on the sidelines as the kids—all the kids—on the playsets seem to be tottering with doom. Five minutes later, she gathers up her crew of amazingly un-bruised children and they leave. Within seconds of their departure Hudson, while walking on the SOLID FLAT GROUND, face plants and knocks himself in the head. I comfort him as I start to laugh. Here I flip at him climbing on the equipment and he falls while walking. Irony rarely escapes me.

I don’t see myself doing so well with crisis situations. I am confident I am not ready to see the inside of the ER. I know that broken bones and stitches are not my thing. Yet, this week we had to call poison control and I was the calm one. When Hudson has really hurt himself thus far, I am more level headed than that other adult here in the house. But --on the playground--I gasp. Frequently.