...I was an obsessive, compulsive, hyper-mom. Or so I am labelled by people around. Well, I have my share of anxious moments.
It rains, there is no raincoat at home and I madly rush in the rain to get one for the little one.
V pulls a stool, places it near the kitchen sink, climbs onto it and precariously positions himself on the space available and washes his spoon. I run like a werewolf towards him.
He wakes up from his afternoon nap and much before that I prepare his snack knowing fully well how hungry he can get.
If the above and similar are considered 'hyper-activity', people (read husband) either must buy a dictionary or read this or do both.