Today my oldest–who’s not that old–marched with his high school band in the NYC St. Patrick’s Day parade.
I worried about drunken crowds staggering into him on the end of the last row of the band.
I worried my husband wouldn’t find him through the crowds along 30+ blocks of the parade route after the band stepped off half an hour early.
I worried he’d be too cold, and his dress shoes would give him blisters.
I worried my mom wouldn’t find him after trekking to the city.
I worried the tuba, sorry–Souzaphone, was bigger than him and he’d get too tired before the end.
I’m a mom. It’s part of my job to worry.
But it sure feels great to see that he’s doing just fine!