Helicopter mom

I'll be the first to admit that I am an extreme worrier.  Duh.  I worry about everything.  I worry that the second I stop worrying, the worst will happen.  So, I continue to worry.  It's my way of forecasting the horrible things that can happen, so that I will never be caught off guard.

But what started as a funny phrase now offends me.  "Helicopter Mom".  Oh I'm sorry, did you mean that I care for my child's safety and well-being?  Because that, I'm fine with.  What I'm not fine with, is the visual of me fluttering around Max like a psychotic butterfly, and being so up in his bizness that I don't allow him to flourish.

What offends me the most is this:  All my life I have wanted to be a mom.  Throughout my life as I realized things that I am not good at, I always had in the back of my mind, the idea that I would be a mom and I would be a good one.  So, if my worrying keeps me from being a good Mom, then what the $@%# am I good at???  Piano lessons didn't pan out...  Sports, nope... Science/Math/school in general, that's not on the list of skills.  So come on, life, please.  Can I just have this one thing:  Mothering.

I want to be cool, calm and collected.  I want to always be one step ahead and be prepared for everything, but have it all appear seamless.  Is this possible?  All of that takes effort, but if the effort is so apparent, then does that still count?  Am I trying too hard?

I haven't had a pity party in a while, so I guess I am due.  Table for one please.

PS. To add insult to my injury, I attempted to put on this pink lip stain so that I would stop biting my lips.  It backfired in the worst way possible.  Now my lips are: raw from trying to rub off the stain; still stained; clown-like.  Can I go home yet?