The Mommy Prize
No doubt you’ve heard about the Mommy Wars. These battles are typically waged between moms on competing sides of any child-rearing controversy in an attempt to make their side, and thus their parenting choices, superior to the choices of others’. It’s as if we Moms are expecting to get a medal for the excellent choices and sacrifices that others watch us make for our kids. But there is no such thing as a Mommy Prize and we all know that the greatest rewards come from the process of our parenting rather than the outcomes.
A few nights ago Noah threw a playground swing at Ben. When the doctor told him he needed stitches, Ben put on a brave face. I watched him take in the words and contemplate their meaning. And then he looked at me and started to bawl.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, “No!” “I don’t want stitches!” “Please Mommy, no!” I was frozen by his shrieks and the look of terror in his eyes. I wanted to ask the doctor if there were any other options. I wanted to scoop Ben into my arms, hold him close to my body and tell him that it was all going to be okay, that it would only hurt a little, and that there was no need to cry.
But I knew that would be a lie because it was going to hurt a lot, and because that pain would make both of us cry. And so I drew him closer to me and as he howled in my arms I calmly told him that it was okay to be scared, that it was okay for it to hurt, and that it was okay to scream. But that wouldn’t mean he didn’t have to have the stitches.
As the nurse and I helped Ben lie down on the exam table, I could feel myself coming unglued. So I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and relaxed my body. When I opened my eyes I was suddenly transported to the California mountains of my childhood. The air was warm but breezy and it felt as if my soul was being cleansed. My head became clear, my thoughts slowed down and I saw a path in front of me. It was a path of sounds and images, of words and shapes, and colors and memories. Ben’s cries of pain became melodic and I could hear myself singing his howling agony. I could see his pain turning different shades of red, blue, green, and yellow. I saw his tears turn from drops to puddles to honey pots to clouds.
Though it was all going on in my head, I channeled the journey to my son and we talked ourselves down the metaphysical path together. He sang his cries of pain and shrieked about the different colors he saw. He winced as he told me about the different shapes that the colors were turning into, and his face brightened when Tigger ran up to him on the path and told him that now he would have a scar just like Harry Potter. Through it all our eyes were glued to each other, our conversation a shared trance.
We laughed and smiled through the rest of the procedure and as the doctor finished, I whispered softly in his ear, “You are the bravest Benjamin I have ever met. You are my hero.”
The doctor’s announcement that the stitches were completed jolted us from our hypnotic daze. I looked up, realized that the procedure was over and saw Ben half smiling and half sobbing as he recovered from the ordeal. I felt light headed and the tears in my eyes started falling like rain. My knees buckled and I nearly fell to the ground. I reflected on the events that transpired and a lump lodged in my throat as I realized that my son and I transcended time and space together. And in that instant, I earned my Mommy Prize.
A few nights ago Noah threw a playground swing at Ben. When the doctor told him he needed stitches, Ben put on a brave face. I watched him take in the words and contemplate their meaning. And then he looked at me and started to bawl.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, “No!” “I don’t want stitches!” “Please Mommy, no!” I was frozen by his shrieks and the look of terror in his eyes. I wanted to ask the doctor if there were any other options. I wanted to scoop Ben into my arms, hold him close to my body and tell him that it was all going to be okay, that it would only hurt a little, and that there was no need to cry.
But I knew that would be a lie because it was going to hurt a lot, and because that pain would make both of us cry. And so I drew him closer to me and as he howled in my arms I calmly told him that it was okay to be scared, that it was okay for it to hurt, and that it was okay to scream. But that wouldn’t mean he didn’t have to have the stitches.
As the nurse and I helped Ben lie down on the exam table, I could feel myself coming unglued. So I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and relaxed my body. When I opened my eyes I was suddenly transported to the California mountains of my childhood. The air was warm but breezy and it felt as if my soul was being cleansed. My head became clear, my thoughts slowed down and I saw a path in front of me. It was a path of sounds and images, of words and shapes, and colors and memories. Ben’s cries of pain became melodic and I could hear myself singing his howling agony. I could see his pain turning different shades of red, blue, green, and yellow. I saw his tears turn from drops to puddles to honey pots to clouds.
Though it was all going on in my head, I channeled the journey to my son and we talked ourselves down the metaphysical path together. He sang his cries of pain and shrieked about the different colors he saw. He winced as he told me about the different shapes that the colors were turning into, and his face brightened when Tigger ran up to him on the path and told him that now he would have a scar just like Harry Potter. Through it all our eyes were glued to each other, our conversation a shared trance.
We laughed and smiled through the rest of the procedure and as the doctor finished, I whispered softly in his ear, “You are the bravest Benjamin I have ever met. You are my hero.”
The doctor’s announcement that the stitches were completed jolted us from our hypnotic daze. I looked up, realized that the procedure was over and saw Ben half smiling and half sobbing as he recovered from the ordeal. I felt light headed and the tears in my eyes started falling like rain. My knees buckled and I nearly fell to the ground. I reflected on the events that transpired and a lump lodged in my throat as I realized that my son and I transcended time and space together. And in that instant, I earned my Mommy Prize.
posted by Lion's Cub | 1:58 PM
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