It is inevitable that children will fall down. So will adults, after many brewskis or tequilas or broken hearts.
But there are different levels of “falling.” Sometimes you fall out of a tree and break your leg. Sometimes you fall down and just scare yourself. Either way, I will deal with my children in a composed manner.
I never want to be the mother that hard-chargers her kid every time he plops down on his diapered butt while learning to walk. Now if he smashes his head into an end-table, I’m there.
I spent Saturday night at the park with Mike’s family and friends in Pennsylvania. I watched the boys play basketball (Mike included) and I watched the kids played on the jungle gym. And it was freaking darling. Of course I was also holding an infant while I was watching all of this, so my ovaries were in full-on nuclear meltdown. I started playing, too-helping kids climb up the slides (why do they love to do this so much?) and letting kids hang from the monkey bars, my arms always waiting to catch them (I’d put the infant down at this point).
And one little girl fell on her butt, and another rolled around in the grass until she rolled onto the blacktop and hit her head. And both of the kids were perfectly fine-not hurt at all. Just scared. I must commend their mothers and fathers and siblings and everyone else for the way they responded. They told them that they were okay. They didn’t get up and run. And because of that, the kids didn’t cry. I am so proud that they are raising tough little kids. Stand By Me kids.
I’m so excited to raise children who will face the world without tears in their eyes.