Lock the door?
Get the sippy? Grab my keys? Turn off my straightener? Get my wallet? Pack snacks? Take a spare change of clothes?
Check my pocket for my keys. Look in the bag for the sippy, clothes, snacks and wallet. Get out of the car to check the door to see if it’s locked. It is. It always is. Unlock said door, run to the bathroom and peer at empty wall outlet. Yes, it’s unplugged. Rush back out. Lock the door again. Make it halfway to the car, turn around and check the door to make sure it’s locked. It is, again.
Send his shoes?
Pack his cars to play with? Text yet to check on him? Leave his sippy in the car?
On lunch break, make a quick trip to the parking lot to look for shoes, toy cars and sippy. None in sight. Success. Check my messages; see I haven’t texted yet, because I don’t want to be the helicopter mom. Decide it’s been long enough and send a text anyway. Check phone periodically and listen for a text notification signaling a reply, because all moms are helicopter moms in some way, form or fashion.
Send that last email?
Turn my office light off? Blow out the candle? Tell my manager I’d be late in the morning?
Replay the ending few minutes of the workday, “see” myself turn off the light and text coworker to have them make sure I blew out the candle. Hope and pray I sent the email, dwell on the email, worry about the email. Finally, accept I’m not sure about the email, and I’ll check when I get in the next day. Text manager to remind him I’ll be late.
Check on him in his crib?
Make sure he was breathing OK? Look at all appendages to make sure nothing was hung in between the bars? Pack his bag for tomorrow? Make his sippy of juice? Play with him enough? Kiss him enough? Tell him I love him enough?
Get up from sorting the laundry, quietly open his door and shine a flashlight on his chest to check his breathing. He’s fine. Hands above his head, not caught. Good. See a foot between the bars. Tiptoe in and move foot to safer location. Hold my breath while he shifts into a more comfortable position, nearly putting his foot between the bars again. Tiptoe back down the hall and start sorting again.
Replay our tickle fest and our dancing to “Ring Around the Rosie.” Smile while I match socks, remembering the kisses I stole while he drifted off to dreamland. Remind myself that I’m a mom, and moms always love enough, even when we feel like we don’t. Finish laundry. Lie down in bed. Say my prayers.
Did I lock the door?
Throw the covers off. Tiptoe to the living room. Check the door. It’s locked. It’s always locked.
Go back to bed. Take a deep breath. Try to get some sleep to prepare for the next day of Did I…