Bags of Nerves and Train Tracks

For a woman who never needed anyone or anything, I’ve turned into a needy cling-on (for B) and a neurotic mother (to Monkey), who gets worried if I don’t know they’re both safe 24/7. I couldn’t care less if B decides to go on an all-night bender, so long as I know he is alive. I’m not the sort of woman who’d worry about him straying, but I am the bag of nerves who worries that he might stumble on to train tracks drunk. Ridiculous, really.

Today and tomorrow, B’s at a meeting with his team, a “lock-in”, which means they go to a conference venue and all stay over. He always texts me shortly after he’s left in the morning, but since then, I’ve heard nothing and my nerves are starting to sting and burn. My mum’s the same. When us kids were teenagers and out, she never slept until the door had slammed the correct number of times and she could count all her chickens back in the nest. My dad’s the opposite, always of the opinion that no news is good news, whereas mum would get images of us being in horrific accidents playing out in her mind. So just now, I checked various websites about road incidents. I consider myself pretty sound, but in some instances I really am two stops from Dagenham – Barking, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the London tube network.

And finally – B just rang. Phew. Now I’m calm again. He had to, really – I texted via Whatsapp AND normal text, sent an e-mail and also tried to ring. OBVIOUSLY he’d just been busy in his meetings, not having been airlifted to the nearest specialist A&E unit. I feel a little sheepish, but fuck it. Loving people as much as I love these two boys of mine means worrying sick about them any moment I don’t have them in my protective Mama Bear sights.

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