My Child Makes Me Feel Like a Kid

Simply put, my child makes me feel like a kid.  I mean this in a few different ways, really.  Of course there's the basic child in me who loves to play and finally has a playmate.  I was a bit of a loner as a youngster and while I preferred the company of adults to people my age, I also had a streak that I sometimes wonder if it held back from going completely "kid" like it could.  So now, in essence, I have a pal.  I have heard a mother or two complain about how her husband or partner thinks the second childhood is the only part of being a parent.  When discussing the topic of whether to have children, his eyes glaze over and he imagines afternoons in the park and nights of hide-and-go-seek.  Yeah, well, that was me.  I imagined those things with my kid.  I loved having a baby, but I have been having a blast since he has been able to walk, run, babble and chase.  He's an awesome buddy. 

Then there are the toys.  I know I have been griping about how MANY of them there are, but it's only because I love them.  All of them.  I once sent a photo to my friends of a giraffe I made out of blocks one night when he went to bed.  The other day he got a cool Toy Story 3 scooter from his Aunt Jaime.  The front lights up and Buzz Lightyear spins around.  It rocks.  He loves it.  I love it more.  The only sad part is I can't play with it after dark for fear of waking him.  I wish I were kidding.

Yesterday's client meeting.

But then there's the kid part that I have touched on a bit in other posts here.  Having a child brings out the fear and self-doubt akin only to being a pre-teen.  It's very strange.  I find myself questioning the very things that I built a life around being confident about.  And I do that primarily because I am terrified.  I will stand up, state my name for the group, and fully admit that I was one of those delusionals who seriously thought that my life would not change much upon having a baby.  Yeah, well, as you can see, it did.  But what I really didn't understand was that it would change things I couldn't--the way others viewed me, what I needed (really needed) to get by, and the like.  And that is what is scariest of all.  That insecure, I-just-had-braces-put-on, feeling is back and it brought with it a full face of acne and a flat chest.  And it's not pretty.

I'm sure it's the unknown that is the familiar feeling.  None of us likes that, particularly when we are trying desperately to make our loved ones happy.  But I'm left with the questions: will I grow out of it?  Will I ever feel confident in this new role?  Will he notice if I swipe his favorite stuffed puppy tonight? 
Hard to raise a child when you feel like a kid.