Mama Bear

During my last semester of teaching statistics, I was pregnant. Actually, I was pretty largely pregnant, and it was very obvious that I was expecting. I had one student who loved to call me “Mama Bear.” I really liked him as a person, so I let him. He was really sweet and such a hard worker. Who would have known that his little nickname for me would become so true?

I am most definitely a mama bear. I protect my little one with everything I have, and no one messes with her. Ever.

I had no idea that I’d feel so protective over my children. Yes, I knew that I would protect them, and I knew that I would love them a ridiculous amount. But the feeling is more fierce than that. I would die for this little baby so that she would be safe. There is nothing more important to me than her wellness and safety, and I’m not afraid to step on anyone’s toes (or get in someone’s face, for that matter) to make sure that my child is protected.

I say this because I’m getting made fun of by my loved ones. They think it’s hilarious that I approached a little kid’s grandmother about a certain behavior.

Okay… so… basically this kid was being a menace in a public playing area. He was knocking kids down, stealing toys, and being a real brat about it. I ignored him, at first, because it was not my business if the other parents didn’t want to say anything. However, when he started a little target practice session with my daughter (aka he was throwing toys at her), I had to intervene. I grabbed his wrist, and took him over to his grandma. I think the shock made him go with me so willingly, so it’s not like I had to drag him. I went up to the grandmother and explained how unacceptable his behavior was… and she tried to blame it on me!!

I have never been so outraged. No one was going to mess with my kid for no reason and get away with it. I reported him to the authority of the play area, and they were asked to leave.

Don’t mess with my mama bear… you’ll lose. I promise.

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