Yesterday when I was cleaning Zeke off after he spit up, Zoe said, in an extremely sincere voice, “I can’t wait to be a mom.”
“Really?” I asked, puzzled but not shocked, since she does love to inspect his dirty diapers. “So you can clean up spit-up?”
“I was being sarcastic,” she explained with an eye roll.
“Oh,” I said. “I understand. You’ll love being a mom. But cleaning up spit-up is not nearly the worst part of being a mom.”
“What is?” She asked. “Poopy diapers?”
While it can be unpleasant, none of that stuff is the worst part of being a mom, I told her. So she asked what was so bad.
“Seeing your kid be sick or unhappy or worrying that something is wrong with them. That’s way worse than cleaning up spit-up or poop,” I explained.
Tonight at bedtime I could hear Zoe telling Randy about how she was scared about starting first grade. I am scared too. I feel like it’s me starting first grade, but with fear multiplied by a thousand because there are so many more things to be worried about than she even knows exist. Which is a good thing. I will resist the urge to tell her about them. I will do my best to be brave, because I know she has to. She’s already in training to be a mom.