Parenting 103

July 18, 2015

Parenting 103 (check Parenting 101 and 102 in the annals of the blog and you will see the trend here)

I’m not a fan of drama for the sake of the dramatic.  Trust me.  But a moment came today that jerked on the fabric of me just a little.  My seams are slightly askew as the sun sets on today. Here you go.

Drew was pitching in the last tournament of the year (thank you, sweet Jesus!) and a line drive hit him square in the side.  No buffer, no stop—straight from the bat to his belly.  I know he’s only ten, but these kids hit…and not like kids. He doubled over, holding his side, and something happened in me that is hard to describe.  Call it adrenaline, call it fear, call it motherhood.  I felt like I could have flown above the fence to him if I had to.  It was all I could do to stay put, watching the coaches rush to him as he hopped around through the pain.  I heard myself making sounds.  I wasn’t crying, but some sort of terrified groan was plowing through my voice and face and my heart. What if it had been his head?  It hit him so hard.  

They ushered him to the dugout and I could tell he was managing the pain. My noises ceased and my body slowly simmered down. 

 Next to me was Nyds, in a similar state, tears in her eyes.  I looked at her.  We looked at each other.  

“That’s the big fear,” I said slowly.  She nodded.

“That’s one of my prayers every game,” she managed.  

This has always been a fear in the back of my mind:  pitchers are in such close proximity to hit balls. 

Nyds gave me an ice pack for him (the woman comes prepared) and I went over to the dugout.  Moms are supposed to stay away—for the pride of their boys and for the whole team professionalism blah-de-blah—but I had to check on him.  I slid him the ice and looked at his sweet little red hot, sweat covered face. He gave me the “don’t make a big deal of it” look but also the “if I could, I would let you take care of me” nod.  I know my boy.

I went back to Nydia and we both sat a little stunned for a while.  He was fine.  But we had glimpsed into a potential we knew of but didn’t want to see. We couldn’t unsee it.

And then I remembered the only other time when I have had that moment of utter terror seize me for one of my children.  Believe me, I know how fortunate I am, by the way; and I plead with God that so it shall remain.  When Drew was about two, he and Grace and I had all been in and out of the house on a summer day.  Somehow, both Grace and I lost sight of him.  There were multiple ways in and out of the house, so at first I didn’t worry.  But we called to him and called to him and…nothing.  As true panic hit me, I yelled his name with a voice I didn’t know I had.  It was so strange and loud and twisted up with fear that it even scared my unflappable 6-year-old.  

He had wandered inside and we had just missed him somehow.  He finally heard me calling him.  Even Grace clung to her little brother that day.  I held on for dear life.

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In brighter parenting news, my sweet girl returned home from New York today.  I can’t describe how much I missed her.  And the thing I love…especially in the midst of this miracle that is adolescence…is that she missed home.  She missed me.  She looked older and taller.  It’s only been a week.  She is just such a remarkable beauty—inside and out. And she is back.  I’m still holding on for dear life.

Each moment, each day as the mother of these two is another piece in the fabric of who I am.  The pattern is ever changing.  But it is lovely.