A family of birds sit in their nest. Mama bird turns to papa bird. She tells him something. He tells her softly, “Don’t worry about tomorrow.”
Two baby birds talk to each other. One bird says to the other, “I can’t wait to fly!” The second baby bird agrees. Mama bird is worried. Papa bird tells ma ma bird, “This hasn’t happened yet. Don’t worry about tomorrow.”
The parents are teaching the two little ones to fly. One little bird falls. “I’m ok!” He says, and gets back up. Mama bird is worried. She tells the family she wants to go home, to their comfortable nest, where the little birds are safe. Papa bird says, “Our little ones will fall from time to time. But that is how they learn. Please don’t worry your little head.”
Little birds are not so little anymore, and they fly off. The did fall, but they also learned. Mama bird is sad. She will always miss her little ones. “I’ll miss them too.” Says Papa bird. “But don’t worry about tomorrow. They’ll be ok.”
This is what I’m facing now. I know my boys will make choices that will make me say “Why?” And “Can’t you just make the safer choice, so you don’t get hurt?” But I know they will fall. Every day I overthink about tomorrow. I wish so badly that could just drag my little ones along and protect them. I even wish I could shield them from all the pain. When my older son broke his toe, I sat on the floor with him and wished I could Osborn that pain. When my younger son disobeyed and got in my way when I was vacuuming, despite my warning him a million times that I won’t be able to hear him if he comes too close to me when I vacuum, and the top of his hand got so scraped and I think even burned by the brush of the vacuum, I cried. I wished it were my own hand. Even now I sit here and dread the choices they will make. I want to keep them here with me. I love them more than my own life. When either of them is sad, my own heart feels for them. So I worry about tomorrow. But I know, like that mama bird that I need to teach them to fly in their own lives. I want to teach them to be kind, loving, and caring. I also need to teach them to protect themselves. My older son is cooking now, and hourly enjoying it. I call him my little fryboy just because he makes yummy fried eggs. He’s not even afraid to flip the eggs, and isn’t even afraid of frying chicken. But my heart pounds, and I find myself trying to take the spatula from him. But he proves again and again, that he’s resilient, and that even if he does hurt himself, he is not afraid of trying again. He even fried steak on the stovetop, and it was the yummiest, most juicy steak I’ve ever had. I guess what I’m getting at is, I worry too much, which is normal. Also, my babies will fly on their own, and as long as I’m teaching them to love others, and to be kind, they will be all right. But I will always worry about my precious boys.
