“Come and get me, please?”
It’s Baby A. He’s hating school. And he wants me to come get him.
He really shouldn’t be this miserable. He’s making good grades, though clearly, the hours of sitting at a desk are slowly but surely doing him in.
On Monday, it was “I have a fever”. He didn’t.
On Tuesday, it was “I have heartburn”. It didn’t abate until I told him that shots were the cure for heartburn. (I’m sure there’s an injectable antacid somewhere in the vaults of Astra Zeneca).
This morning, it was “My tummy hurts”. Could be, but hard to believe when he was doing major Bakugan battle in the living room with his brother not ten minutes before.
Anyway, he called about 10:00 and tearfully asked me to pick him up. The tears were replaced with miffiness (not a word, I know, but he was miffy) when I let him know that I would pick him up, but when he got home, he’d be staying on his bed with a book (what? no playing on the computer? no unfettered access to TV? But that’s what we always do when we’re sick!) After a little prodding and a few probing questions, he admitted that maybe he wasn’t so sick after all. He hung up the phone without saying goodbye.
This is the part of being a mom that I struggle with. I’m not known for my compassion. As the only girl in a houseful of boys, the daughter of Type A dad, and a product of years spent in a boarding school, I’m more of a “buck up, little camper” kind of parent. And yet, even in my less than compassionate moments, there still is ache and second-guessing, and wondering if I’m doing the right thing to raise this little tender hearted one to being all that he’s intended to be.
He needs to learn that sometimes, we play hurt. That life calls us to do stuff that’s not pleasant. That part of being responsible is doing that for which we are responsible, whether we like it or not. It’s much too easy these days to walk away from responsibility, and I want him to willingly submit and do what’s required of him. Does this make sense?
And yet I want him to know that I love him in the midst of making him do something he abhors. So, to that end, I went to school and had lunch with him. And rubbed his little back, and shared a bite of tortilla chips and Oreos and talked with his friends and asked about recess. I just wanted to let him know that he is important to me, and that I do care deeply about him.
Just not his tummy.