I spend a lot of time complaining about the demands of motherhood. At least in private, I do. The time, the impatience, the bickering, the driving, the driving and the driving.
But it's all nothing compared to the hard of standing on the sidelines as my kid takes a hit, a rough tackle, right to the heart.
Where I fight off an irresistible urge to rush onto the field, whistle in mouth, yellow flag flying, yelling at the top of my lungs, FOUL! Illegal emotion by an offensive player!
Or in mother speak, Stop hurting my kid!
But stand there I do with my thumb up my ass a case of sideline paralysis, here and there maybe sending in a play. When I can think up one.
Unless, of course, I get the glare.
You know, the one that says, Stay the fuck out of it, MOM.
In which case I take the role of the sounding board, uncertainty pounding in my head, offering the occasional and pathetic, Sorry she's acting like that.
I thought I'd have reached the end of those feelings by now. Stable marriage. Nice house. Beautiful kids. Good job. The adolescent angst safely tucked away in the past.
But nope. Not as a mom. This mom gets to live it all over again, in triplicate.
I didn't know it would feel like this. Standing helplessly by, feeling it all as if it were my own, powerless to do anything about it. Which is how it felt back then, too, really. Only this time with the perspective of how trivial it all is. How nothing.
But I can't convince them of that.
So for now I'll just stay put on the sidelines, hang onto the yellow flag. Or maybe offer it as a handkerchief. And have faith they'll get through it just like I did.
13 comments:
Know what? That you're even thinking that way means you're an awesome mom. Puberty and all the angst it brings with it simply sucks. "Mean girls", in my teen's case, have been a constant source of frustration for me too, since "the glare" seems to always been on the Teen's face, willing me to stay out of it. So hard... so very very hard.
I'm not generally one to sit back and see what happens, so when that's what I'm expected to do... well, it ain't easy. Sometimes I slip in some correction though, when she's not paying attention. I'd probably spontaneously combust if I couldn't do that much!
It'll pass, although in my case I get to do it all again 10 years later with Wee One. And I'll be in my 50s then... I may need to be medicated for that one.
Haha! Love your blog. I empathised completely with your post. I'd love to say it gets easier but no it doesn't. Once a Mom always a Mom....actually it does get a bit easier when they finally leave home! Thank you for visiting my blog and leaving a comment. I hope the boxer you are loooking for is not the dog variety:) Now about my mother.......
We've had a lot of that going on around here and you are absolutely right.
Oh. The glare.
Just forbid him to play football. That will solve everything.
ugh. the glare. with the "oh please, mom...don't say anything...just sit there, pleeease".
it's funny how, when the idea of becoming a parent was just in our thoughts, that no one told us about these things.
thank goodness for blogs....i'm finding lots of help/support/laughter from people all over the place.
Love the baby photo. Yep, when your kid hurts, you hurt.
I remember when mine experienced her first heart break. I felt so helpless. I offered to go & pinch his head off. She seemed to appreciate this.
I love that picture. Hilarious.
And yes, I know that feeling. Fortunately, my kid plays tennis, so I only have to get angry when someone makes a bad line call that hurts him. I don't think I could take watching him get hit.
I have been banned from watching my son play rugby. Oh the injustice of it all.
Grace -- As someone who plays tennis, I can tell you a bad line call feels exactly like a hard hitting tackle. Excactly.
Being a mother can be a bitch. I know the look you're talking about, all too well.
I hate to see the kids get pounded and none of them are mine.
the thing no one told me about being a mom is that its like having a piece of your heart that lives outside your body.
Terrific post. I entirely understand as well -- I always operate by thinking that kids need to experience their own failures as well as successes and you have to resist the urge to step in for the minor things, otherwise how will they learn?
Thanks also for visiting my blog!
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