Over the weekend, a friend reminded me of a story I shared with her from when my daughter was young:
I've always been a little overprotective, which has manifested in an assortment of ways throughout my daughter's childhood that she can unpack through intensive therapy. It didn't help my neuroses when a friend shared a story about a friend of his - an adult woman who choked to death on cottage cheese when she was home alone several years ago. This horrific story lodged itself in my brain and has haunted me ever since. (Aside: the guy who shared this makes a living as a comedy writer, completely disproving the old adage that tragedy + time = comedy.)
Hearing that one story made me realize that even though we fully trusted our daughter to be at home by herself from the time she was about 8 years old, I did not trust her to eat when she was there because God Forbid she would choke on something. Thus was the impetus of the "no eating when home alone" rule.
I mean, she was allowed water and clear broth...I'm not a monster. Just nothing that required chewing.
Having become familiar with my nonsense, she rolled her 8-year-old eyes but obliged without too much resistance.
Until one day when I was at my office and she had just returned home from school and texted me to let me know she was home safely, but was very hungry. I was not focused as I was finishing up a work call and also realized I was about ten minutes late to a meeting with a financial planner my husband had scheduled. So....when my daughter casually asked if she could make pancakes, I distractedly replied, "Sure. Just text me when you're done."
I then finished my work call, hopped on to the financial planner call, and when that was over it occurred to me that about an hour and a half had elapsed since my daughter asked about pancakes and I had not received the promised text from her.
Slightly concerned, I texted her. She did not reply. I then called her. Also, no reply. I panicked. And continued to try and call her. Nothing.
This is when the terror set in. I was already processing how the one time I was distracted and let her eat when she was home alone, she had choked on pancakes and was wondering how I'd ever live with myself. This was happening while I was hurriedly shoving my laptop into my backpack and heading to the elevator in my office building while continuing to ring her phone. I raced the four miles home WAY over the speed limit, continuing to call her phone and continuing to receive no response.
When I finally reached the house, I pulled into the driveway and flew into the house screaming her name at the top of my lungs. I apparently sounded so panicked and looked like such a depraved lunatic that when she finally emerged from the guest room downstairs, wiping sleep from her eyes while trying to figure out what was going on, she burst into tears.
To be fair:
1) the kid had never taken an afternoon nap before
2) she had also never not replied to a text and ESPECIALLY a phone call
3) I'm a lunatic
Brutalism
P.S. The post title is stolen from comic genius Mitch Hedberg. RIP.
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