I am proud to be a helicopter parent
My wife, the darling woman that she is (that sounded sarcastic, but she's truly the best), has given me a title that she feels adequately represents my parental skills when charged with the care of our little one. She calls me a "helicopter parent".
For those unfamiliar with the phrase, according to the most trusted source on the web, Wikipedia (that time I was being sarcastic), a helicopter parent is "a colloquial term for a parent who pays extremely close attention to their child's or children's experiences and problems, particularly at educational institutions."
Another term for it is "over parenting." I've decided I prefer it to be coined "over caring."
Yes, I become concerned when Miss Two struts purposefully out of the living room and bee lines it for the kitchen, where any number of safely tucked-away appliances or utensils could cause her harm.
Yes, i become antsy when she makes a break for the front door on an unsupervised mission to search for just the right stick to present to us from the garden (our house is fully gated).
And yes, I may have said to my wife on one too many occasions, "Have you got her? Because I'm about to walk two metres away and I need to know that you will guard her like you work for the CIA."
Hmmm... The CIA, do they protect regular kids?
I see my "hovering" as "nurturing". I want her to feel safe and secure and the only way I can do that is to feel safe and secure in the knowledge that she is safe and secure.
On the plus side, my wife has admitted that my "nurturing" skills help her to worry slightly less, as she knows that I nearly always have my daughter’s back, regardless of the situation. So it's a parental win-win.
But I’m all too aware that I have to loosen my grip a little, otherwise things could get awkward when she's older.
I can just see myself "nurturing" a few rows behind her while she's on a date at the movies watching Step Up 19, or "over caring" from a bar stool as she goes out to her first nightclub (do they even call them that anymore?) or failing to release my grip when I eventually have to walk her down the aisle.
I just threw up in my mouth a little.
I'm hoping she'll understand that my parenting skills come from a place of love and from never wanting her to get in harm’s way.
And if that means I'm banging on the door of her boyfriend's home at 3am when she's 24, because I need to know she's alright (and may want a cuddle from my little girl), then I can live with that.
I just hope she can too.