Hence, my occasional anxiety when she is subject to the normal but sometimes threatening realities of teenage life. Boys. Drugs. Strangers. Malicious gossip. Mean girls. Academic challenges. Broken hearts.
She picks up on that anxiety too and it doesn't make her happy. Once she sourly observed, "Mama always flips out when I have to go somewhere by myself." Perhaps that's too strong a verb for it. The anxiety certainly escalates. I do have a bit of a catastrophic imagination. Great for fiction writing, perhaps not so great for parenting.