Sunday, 5 May 2013

Bad Mother Week

Here it is. The terrible confessions of a bad mother.

Last Monday evening, Toby and Max were playing on their scooters in the garden when a crying Toby came hopping inside.

"Mum! I've really hurt my foot."

"Ok," I replied, barely looking up at him, "have a sit down and a rest for a bit." And I left it at that.

The next morning he was still hobbling around the house and as he left for school I felt a small twinge of concern, but nothing more. He walked to school and home again, phoning me on the way home to tell me it might take him a little longer than normal to walk home because his foot was hurting. I let him take his time. Wednesday was the same.

Thursday arrived and not only did he go to school and take part in PE, he also had athletics club after school in which he ran in races, and then he walked from school to the swimming pool for his swimming lesson. By the time I picked him up at 5:30pm, he was dragging his foot behind him as he walked. My concern grew, but he was adamant that he could carry on as normal.

Friday's activities were the usual walk to school and a trip to the park afterwards followed by tea and racing around outside playing nerf wars at his friend's house. I picked him up at 7pm after a long day playing outside on his sore foot. By this time, his foot resembled a club foot as he turned it inwards and dragged it behind him to try to prevent the pain during walking.

Saturday morning (after he had scootered to the prayer meeting and back) we finally decided to get it checked out. It hadn't improved so we thought it would be best to be on the safe side. He said it wasn't really hurting as much, but as we walked into A&E I did whisper an instruction to hop quietly in his ear, just so I wouldn't look like a neurotic mother.

When the X Ray came back and the Dr told us it was broken, I was more than surprised. I felt absolutely terrible. My boy had been walking, running, swimming and scootering on a broken foot all week. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at him in apology.

He, of course, sees it differently. Apparently it is far more manly to be able to say you've run a race with a broken foot. At the moment, he is rather pleased with his crutches, his cast and the attention it gives him.

But as for me, I am still emotionally recovering from my Bad Mother Week. This one will go down in family history and perhaps, one day a long way away from now, I might be able to laugh about it.

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