I have a confession. And it's making me really insecure. I don't really want to admit this, since I am 39 years old. And a mother to two children. Two children who have security blankets of their own. Ugh. I can't do it... Maybe I'll have the courage to 'fess up in a minute.
Let's first talk about security. What a powerful word. Webster's defines it, in part, as "freedom from danger, risk, etc." And "freedom from care, anxiety, or doubt." But how can one, especially a mom, ever be free from care?
This is my first blog post, so I should probably start with why I named this blog "Brown Silky, Pink & Kitty." "Brown Silky" is my son Jackson's security blanket. And "Pink & Kitty" are my daughter Keene's beloved lovies, blankies, huggies, cuddlies, whatever-you-call-the-sleepytime-blanket your child can't go to bed without.
I've lost count how many times I've relentlessly searched for "Brown Silky," for "Pink," for "Kitty." How many times I've listened to whining, accompanied by "I can't find Brown Silky, mommy.." Or "I need my Pink. I need my Kitty." How many times they've been peed on, puked on, drooled on, washed. The children's aunt once got a whiff of one, and her exact comment was "whew! that smells a little spitty!"
They are worth their weight in gold. I know I'd give my right arm if one got lost. I feel certain any of their caregivers would too. All because of those few precious moments just before fall-asleep-time when we hear that oh-so-comforting "mmmm" as they bury their sweet little faces into "Brown Silky," "Pink," and "Kitty."
I'm feeling so warm and fuzzy just thinking about their little purrs, let's go back to my confession. (Deep breath). When I was little, I had my own "bunny." I chewed it's ears off. I remember, mom used a safety pin to keep them together. And I still sleep with a white blanket I've had since grade school. "Seriously," my late grandmother used to ask, "what will you do with that ratty blanket one day when you're on your honeymoon?" But every night, I'd curl up with my blanket and know all was well in the world. Still do (and can't believe I just admitted that to the world. Grand, please don't roll over in your grave?!).
I remember buying "Brown Silky" when I was pregnant with Jackson. He was my first-born. I wanted, as all new moms do, life to be perfect for him. I wanted him to feel that all was well in his world. You never know which blankets they will take to, but he sort of subliminally picked "brown" as it was first called. It came in the car seat, crib, bassinet. As he grows older, he only cuddles it at naptime, bedtime, and if he's sick. And as a working mom, it makes me feel better knowing he has some sense of "security" while I'm gone.
Then, when Keene came along, so did "Pink & Kitty," as they've come to be known. They are precious, soft, cuddly, warm... secure. And we all know that --even for just a moment-- all is well, so long as "Pink & Kitty" are there to hold so tight.
Isn't that all we ALL really ever want? Something, or more specifically, someone, to hold so tight? To let us know the world, our world, is OK?
So back to that word. Security. To be free from care, free from danger, anxiety, and doubt. If only a security blanket, a "Brown Silky, Pink & Kitty" could do it for moms! Instead, I see moms, every single day, worried about something. Is my infant safe at day care? Is he or she eating enough? Why isn't my baby sleeping? Am I doing this right? Is it the right time to start feeding solids? Why is my toddler having so many tantrums? Am I a decent mom, even though I lost my cool in the midst of a grocery-store-meltdown?
Am I putting my kindergartner into the right school? My 'tween is so emotional. Is that normal? My teenaged boy is being such jerk to me. What did I do wrong?
It never ends. The worry, the danger, the anxiety, the doubt. So maybe the answer is, instead of seeking security, we embrace the challenge. Welcome the anxiety. Know that it is all being worked out for a greater purpose. And hug our children a little closer each night. Oh, and our own blankets and pillows, too.