Mom Has Tattoos
Every time I go out of town without my kids, I get a weird little anxiety burst a few days before I leave, specifically about being away. I’m going to Paris on Friday, and I won’t be home until Wednesday, and I have this super intense worry and fear that something is going to happen to my kids - not necessarily while I’m away, but like…sometime.
I and you and she and her and him and them and they - those with children - know that fear, of course. It’s THE FEAR. It’s the thing that pops up into your mind seemingly out of nowhere, and you remember that your kids aren’t really yours. That the most amazing, precious, perfect, beautiful thing in your life doesn’t truly belong to you and what’s going to happen will happen and no amount of worrying or money or screaming or micromanaging can prevent - I don’t even want to think about what.
As I was driving around, I started thinking about five days without my kids - they’re 4 and 6 now, the perfect ages, still sweet and cuddly but starting to test out independence and helpfulness - and I felt a little desperate. Will I bring one stuffy from each of them with me? Will I pack dirty t-shirts to sniff and snuggle while I sleep? What can I bring that has the exact same softness and warmth as the skin on my son’s back, so I won’t feel lonely without him? These little separations always make me think of the worst things, and I probably need to see a therapist about it, but I don’t know how to stop worrying.
A few days ago, in that panicked mindset I made an appointment at a tattoo shop…
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