Suffering in Paradise

Today while I was talking with my 9-year-old son Joey at a swim meet, a sudden wind blew back a door propped with a folding chair, which fell and whacked him on the head. As he lurched into my arms, it struck me how absurd it was that had I not been distracted by our conversation -- a small argument over his longterm health, concerning whether or not "Cheetos" have transfats -- I might have been sufficiently alert to grab the chair and spare him that pain.
At the same time, I do believe that to be a mom is to be generally extra conscious of the utter randomness of life, the illness that might strike without warning, the accident waiting to happen, to the point where the most nervous wrecks among us are walking illustrations of Carl Jung's notion that people can't stand too much reality. Most moms just can't seem to relax and enjoy all the usual defense mechanisms we have to ward off our ultimate lack of control over events. An illustration of this was a poll I cited in my book showing that when a group of voters were asked if they feared a member of their family would be victimized in a terrorist attack, just 17 percent of the men but 43 percent of women and 53 percent of mothers with children under 18 said yes. This potent mixture of attachment and dread is what Brazilians mean when they say: ser mae e sofrer no paraiso -- to be a mother is to suffer in paradise. For anyone suffering and dreading too intensely in these sad days after the London attacks, I recommend the great dose of rationality offered in John Tierney's column in today's New York Times. He reminds us, still, and I hope his statistics are up to date, that it's more likely you (or your children) will be hit by lightning than struck by a terrorist. Of course, now we can start worrying about lightning.