Overprotective 'mom' babies her 'babies' By Molly DeCleene News-Chronicle If having and raising children is anything like planting and growing flowers, I will be the most nervous mother in the history of parenting. I made this astonishing and rather frightening discovery on Sunday afternoon as I basked in the sun and transplanted some seedlings I had started in pots several months ago. Before I write any more, I must tell you all that I am not pregnant. I am merely making an analogy. I have never been much of a horticulturalist. It's a fact that surprises me, given that both of my grandmothers and my mother are marvelous with plants. All they have to do is smile at a seed and it will germinate. Now, either great gardening skills are hereditary and it's just taking me longer than most to develop a green thumb, or I will be the type of person who kills plants by looking at them cross-eyed. My desire to plant a garden - this is my first attempt - stems from a horticultural mishap that occurred about six years ago. I was helping my parents with yard work. While my dad mowed the lawn, my mom and I pulled up what seemed like 500 yards of "Creeping Charlie" - a perennial weed and the Don Juan of the botanical world. Then, my mom asked me to transplant some day lilies. As I had never transplanted flowers before, I was nervous. "What if I kill them?" I asked. "You won't kill them," Mom said. "Just dig them up, plant them about a foot deep and a foot apart in their new spot, and they'll be fine. Day lilies will grow anywhere." Anywhere except along the fence bordering the back of our yard. The poor little flowers never came up. They had gone to the great garden in the sky. Now, whenever I see a day lily, I can barely stop myself from apologizing to it. "I'm sorry I killed your grandmother blossom!" I want to shout. Anyway, I figure enough time has passed since I sent the flowers to "sleep with the bees." So, I have started a wee garden. The results thus far have been interesting. The alyssum - the flower I thought would be easiest to grow - has died. So have the petunias, which I monitored more closely than all of my other plants. My sweet peas seem to be thriving. I am attempting to train them to climb my balcony railing, and am hoping my efforts pay off in ... er ... spades. The daisies, which are among my favorite flowers, have been harder to work with. Methinks I transplanted them too soon. On the other hand, I may have been too careful with my leafy darlings. To say I've babied my plants is the greatest of all understatements. I set the pots out in the sun during the day, which seems normal enough. But I bring them inside at night. Most folks (I assume, anyway) would just cover their plants. Not me. My overprotective behavior spooks me a little. If I'm not careful, I may be covering my plants with blankets and reading bedtime stories to them before the month is out. I'm sure I sound neurotic. I'm sure I sound crazy. But I must prove to myself, and to my green-thumbed family, that I am not the Doctor Doom of the gardening world. Now, would one of you please lend me a copy of "Goodnight Moon" and some fertilizer? DeCleene's column appears Wednesdays in the Woman Section. She has been known to play "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not" with daisy petals. Contact her at [email protected].