I was guilty of turning into a mother bear on Monday night, so lets start at the beginning. Vanity Mom has REALLY been wanting to see the new Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes, I don’t care that the movie didn’t follow the story and that it was a concept and that they didn’t even use real monkey’s… WHATEVER! I wanted to go out and see a movie in which we now rarely do, back in the before times, the long long ago’s hubby and I took in movies monthly (sometimes even weekly) so the grandparents decided they would take the boy and we could have an evening to ourselves. My parents are amazing with our son, there’s never been a problem and we always hear stories about how many times he’s went up and down the stairs, chased the dog, and ran grandma and grandpa tired.
So hubby and I packed the bag of diapers, the sippy cup, a bottle (in case he was to tucker out early (YEAH RIGHT)) and a few other things. He was dropped off and hubby and I enjoyed sushi, at dinner we spoke about the dreams of being millionaires, about dream vacations, and how nice it was to actually look at one another during our conversation rather than leaning over picking up toys and keeping our child entertained. We got to the theatre, held hands and took in the movie, enjoying the fact that we didn’t have a monitor plugged in and were listening for a certain someone to roll over, there was no holding our breaths at loud parts in hopes it didn’t stir him. It was just us watching the big screen.
Fast forward to where we get back to my parents place, I walk in to see my brother (he has no care for children so I’m not worried at all, if anything he said hi to my child and ignored him and the rest of the family the entire night of him being in the house) beside him although is his crack head girlfriend. I held my breath, my eyes widened as the memory of being pregnant and her rubbing my belly cooing “oooohhh hello little baby” came flooding back. My eyes dart to my child sitting on the floor playing with a toy truck and up to her saying “we’ve got to go” and then crouching and waving goodbye to my son. I clench my fists trying not to move, trying not to scoop my child up into my arms and scream out “no he’s mine, stay away!” My son smiles at her and her and my brother leave. The door closes and I hear my brother’s van door shut when I immediately burst out “you didn’t let her touch him did you?” Right away the only thing I cared about was if my brother’s girlfriend whom was notorious for drug use had come near my son, I was ready to rip her throat out if she had even picked him up, nothing else mattered at that moment, I didn‘t care if he had eaten, if he had a good night, or why he was in a different change of clothes. My mother laughed at me assuring me that I didn’t give her enough credit and that my brother and his girlfriend had been there all of five minutes. My father then stepped in and explained the slight rug burn on his face after biffing it on a stair, did I care? No, not about that but I seethed still of the idea about someone I didn’t want near my child EVER possibly being near him.
Yes, I totally over reacted. The calm, cool, collective mother totally took on the role of something I had never felt before. I always swore up and down that I never wanted to shroud my child from the world, that I wanted him to see it with eyes wide open and with understanding, but last night I figured I want to protect him from it until he CAN understand it.