Just Give Us a Reason

My sister once saw a middle aged man making lewd gestures at two young girls while she was stopped at a red light.  She yelled for the girls to look away and honked her horn to get the pervert to stop.  He was too absorbed to even hear her.  Once the light turned green, she pulled up right next to him and got out of the car.

"I'm coming for you," she yelled at him.

He took one look at her and ran.  She chased after him.  She was ready to beat him up real good.  Unfortunately, he got away.

I understand where she's coming from.

In a fifteen minute drive, my imagination goes wild and I think of twenty different horrible scenarios (none of which I want to repeat because it makes me too upset to even think about) in which I have to save Darla.  I wish I didn't have these thoughts, but I have to live with them.  I just call them my security guard boot camp ; a mental obstacle course so I can best protect my cub.  Nothing will catch me off guard.

I envision myself jumping out of the car, my fists turning into knives and saving my baby.  I see myself picking up a full grown man and throwing him into a dumpster.  I watch as I tackle a line backer.    

If there were ever a tie that binds between myself and my seven sisters (pictured above) together, it's the desire to want to beat up anyone who messes with kids (any kids).  I've always had this strong desire to take down such men or women, but it's only intensified now that I'm a mother.  Before, I would have equal measures sadness and anger.  Now, I only see red.  I walk around with my claws out, ready to pounce on anyone who looks at me funny.  I think in my head, "give me a reason" over and over again.  This, to me, is what makes me a true mom.  This is motherhood.