Wander

We went to the park this afternoon. The kid was more interested in the trees and leaves and rocks and sticks. He did not set foot in the playground area. So not interested in that. It's funny to watch him just wander around, looking at things and touching things and seeing what happens if he touches this stick to this bench. Oh and so many sticks. And I let him run around with them. I'm sure that's going to win me some parenting award when he trips, falls and stabs himself in the cheek or worse the eye and oh my GOD, why do I let him do that? I am more relaxed when it comes to things like falling down or bumping his head or scraping his hands. I'm all "oh well, get up, let's keep playing." but sweet Jesus, if he doesn't take a nap or refuses to eat I am a bundle of hand wringing worry. So strange, what registers on my Worry Radar and what doesn't. My husband? Complete opposite. The kid doesn't nap? OH WELL. But sweet Lord, don't let him stand on that footstool or run with that stick or have that rock. We are learning how to let our various crazy-pants worries go, but it's a slow process. I am more willing to let mine go than he is, but I think that's because I've logged a shitload of hours in therapy. Seriously. Sometimes I think my husband could benefit from a session or two, but he would roll his eyes at the suggestion. He thinks therapy is a waste of time. Maybe not for me, but for sure, for him. It's weird when we talk about therapy because I know he thinks something that I credit for saving my mental health is a bucket load of bullshit, but he always listens attentively and tells me he's glad it helped. He's a good man. Emotionally dense sometimes, but he's my emotionally dense man and I luuurrrve him.