Aren't YOU Worries about the Polar Bears

Originally posted in Sept. 07

Last weekend, I turned 28. 10 years ago, I was 18. I am not 18 anymore.
Every morning, I wake up by 7 am. I shower, or if the mood suits me, I take a hot bath. I need those now, baths. To relax. When I was 18, I didn't need them. Every morning, my bed is made, which sits in my newly renovated bedroom, which is conveniently placed in my home. Yes, I own a home.
Afterwards, I get myself ready which consists of tinted moisturizer and mascara, because I just don't have time for anything else. And I dress in my usual "comfy" pants and a sensible top. Earrings (sensible pearl studs, obviously) if I am feeling frisky and my wedding set are the only bling to bedazzle this tired face.
I have a son, too. He is five and says things like "liberating", "turbid", and "tributary". And he knows the meaning of the big words. This said son is mine, which means after my own morning ritual, I start his. I try very hard to get him dressed, his teeth brushed and vitamin ingested before his toes reach the bottom step, but, usually, I am defeated by hunger. So intense and debilitating is the hunger that I have been warned on many occasions that he just may die from it, and if he dies, then I won't be anyones mom, and then what? Well, I guess we better eat then.
I try and squeeze in laundry, other-peoples-bed making, vacuuming.... you get the idea, while he is eating. Then, we start school. Oh, did I mention, we are homeschoolers? (for the record, I still stand by my decision to do this, but this is my blog, and I can complain about whatever I want) Some days school is great. We start at a reasonable time and finish quickly. No complaints. Other days, I am consistently reminded that my very bright son might lose his arms at any moment from writing so much and his very bright brain might turn to mush and drip out his nose! And, I must have forgotten to tell him that lessons are 5 days a week, not 2! How could I be so irresponsible?
Every day, I make lunch. Which to anyone else may be a fine task, but not for me. Not when your offspring eats 6 things in the entire world and it is left up to you to come up with 365 different ways of serving the 6 things, so that the bright boy does not get bored. I also make dinner.
I have a cat, too. My husband has taken the job of feeding her and taking care of her "potty", but sometimes, he forgets and I get the look. The look which says obviously a great injustice has occurred because SHE has been forgotten, and I better make up for it.
My point? Before I had a home and savings account and life insurance and career, when I was young and cute and innocent, no body told me I would have responsibility. No body mentioned that MY life, the one that the world revolved around, would be someone else's once I had children. I didn't NOT get pregnant in high school because of the responsibility. I didn't get pregnant because people would talk about me behind my back, and THAT is the worst! My first checking account (which I got when I was 16) consistently held $13 in it, which was great because the shirt from American Eagle is on sale for $10! What luck!
My life has flashed before me. I am not 18 anymore. I am not young and cute and innocent (well, a little bit cute). The world is heavy on my shoulders, because I worry. I worry about my son and my husband that they will be happy and healthy. I worry about my parents, because as I am aging, so are they. I worry about money and the economy. I also worry about the environment because if we don't do anything, global warming will cause the polar bears to drown! Seriously!
I don't want to worry anymore, but I am 28. I have to. Accepted.
So, with a deep breath and a little pep talk to myself, I prepare to start another lesson with my son.