HWIC

As anyone who knows me well can tell you, I am a worrier. I love to worry about stuff. In fact, Adam says I am not happy unless I have something to worry about. And, if I don't have anything to worry about, I will invent something. I don't know how true that is but I can tell you that I come by it naturally.

I suspect I come from a long line of worriers. I have never met anyone who can worry like my father. I am not sure Dad worries as much as I do but when he does worry about something he does it wholeheartedly. I have never seen someone get so worked up as my Dad when he's worried about something.

The birth of Andrew opened whole new worrying vistas in my life. Actually, I think when it comes to him, I control myself pretty well. I do not, in general, over-react and worry about every little bump and scrape. I would be a wreck if I did. In fact, Andrew hit his head at school one day, giving my precious baby a black eye, and his teacher remarked that as long as all of his limbs were still attached, she didn't think we would get excited. I was proud of that remark. Clearly, when it comes to Andrew, I have my worrying firmly in hand.

At least I thought I did, until last Friday. Last Monday, Andrew fell and hit his knee on the bed frame. He whacked it pretty hard and gave himself a nice big bruise. On Wednesday, he complained a couple of times that his leg hurt. Since he was grabbing the knee that he whacked, I didn't pay much attention. He complained about it again on Thursday and, finally, on Friday, after his nap, when he complained about it again and refused to walk, I decided to check it out.

So I sat him down and started poking his kneecap. "No Mommy he says, it hurts here" and grabs the back of his leg, just behind the knee. So I put my hand behind his leg and feel the biggest lump I have ever felt. The lump was the size of a grapefruit. Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, it was more like the size of a really small grape. But, still, it was huge and hard. That's when my little worry gene roared into high gear. Clearly, my precious baby had a tumor! It was as obvious as the nose on my face. I immediately called the doctor and scheduled an appointment, then called Adam and informed him Andrew had a huge lump on the back of his leg and he needed to come home RIGHT NOW!

So we rush Andrew to the doctor, in five o'clock traffic (ick). The whole way there I am almost sick with worry. It is all my fault. He had been telling me for days that his leg hurt and I had been ignoring him. I am an awful mother. MY POOR BABY!

Yeah. "It's just some fluid, probably from when he hit his knee" says the doctor. When I was obviously relieved, she asked what I thought it was. I, somewhat embarrassed, admitted I thought it was a tumor. God bless her, she didn't laugh at me, just explained to me why it wasn't a tumor.

Ten minutes after leaving the doctor's office, my baby (you know, the one who couldn't walk on his leg after his nap) is crawling all over the playscape at Central Market where we stopped for dinner. So much for his tumor!

And I realized, despite what I thought, I am clearly, still, the Head Worrier in Charge!