Confessions of an insecure mum

Reliving my childhood anxieties.

Today I have a confession.

I lack faith. In my children's abilities. Not because I doubt their abilities but more because I am finding as a mother that all those deep seated insecurites, resentments and worries that I had as a child, an adolescent, heck, even in my 20s, are re-surfacing. If that makes sense.

My 2 boys entered a colouring competition over the school holidays. Unusually for them, they applied themselves to the task and I must say produced some lovely, bright and pretty good drawings to enter. Usually the papers end up torn, scrunkled up (as my 4 year old would say) or relegated to that never ending pile of unfinished projects that gather dust in the corner.

Mummy duly popped them in the entry box and- I am sorry to say- thought "well, can't see them winning but at least they gave it a go" It's not that the entries were bad. I just thought that they were average and that there were sure to be really talented 4 and 6 year old colouring in masters out there destined for the winner's podium.

I was wrong.

Today's phone call informed us that one son had won 2nd place. And with that, 3 shop vouchers which they have decided to share. Way to go!

So the boys have learned a lesson about winning, losing, sharing, persevering and I am sure a dozen other things. And so has mummy.

I worry about my children. I ache with the thought that they will be hurt, be left out, feel lost, feel alone, feel inadequate. Because I remember feeling that way. I don't worry at all that they will bully someone. Because I never did. I worry that they will be the last chosen for the sporting team, that they will be ridiculed for a physical attribute, that they will worry about it all too much. Because I am a worrier.

So I confess and I promise to be more positive and have more faith in my kids and in life and in other people. I promise to worry less. I wont break out into a sweat when my 6 year old wants to wear socks with his sandles. Or my 4 year old struts around in Harry Highpants pyjamas. Because someone (or maybe multiple someones) will like and love them for who they is, sandles, socks and all, because they are caring, loving, funny boys. In spite of their mother's worries.