I Get It

Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I was a teenager, my mother and I used to get into many arguments. Mostly they were about the fact that I wasn't allowed to do anything, and that she didn't trust me enough to let me go wherever I wanted with whomever I wanted whenever I wanted. In short, I thought she was extremely unreasonable. When I expressed my displeasure with her, and asked her why she was being so difficult, she would look at me with a weird expression, then say quietly, "You'll see. One day you'll be a parent, and you'll know why."

Well, after many years and 1 daughter later, I will say the words my mother has been longing to hear me say: I get it. I now understand.

I understand the overwhelming and complete love you feel for your child. You will do anything for her. The first time you hold her tiny hand and look into her trusting eyes, your primal instinct to protect and nurture her completely overwhelms you. You are now responsible for this tiny being, and it is a terrifying and humbling thought.

I understand the gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear. The fear that she will stop breathing in the middle of the night. That masked ninja terrorists will break into her nursery and steal her away. That she will be diagnosed with some horrible illness, and I will be powerless to make her better. It's a fear that never, never goes away.

I understand the primal urge to protect her. Everyone and everything is now a threat (real or imagined makes no difference). It's not that you don't want her to enjoy things and experience life. It's just that you have seen what people can sometimes do, and you vow to do whatever is necessary to keep those threats at bay. No threat is too small. You rely much more on your mom radar - and if someone doesn't "feel" right, if you have a "sense" about someone that you don't like, you follow it. When you're a parent, there is no such thing as a "bad" gut-feeling. You don't take chances with your child - ever.

And so, many years from now, when my daughter and I are arguing about her "freedom", about why I'm so insistant on meeting all her friends, and knowing where she's going and when she's coming home, I'm sure I'll be saying "One day, you'll see." And just like I did all those years ago, I'm sure she'll roll her eyes, sigh, and say, "Whatever."

And many years after that fateful day, she'll be writing her own "I Get It" blog. And revenge will be mine.