I might be cheating a bit with today's post. Don't get me wrong, I wrote it, but my blog is not the first place this post has appeared. I was reading another person's blog earlier today (themoabclub.blogspot.com) and her blog entry prompted this comment from me. She is the mother of 3 boys, with a fourth boy on the way. She was describing the destruction to property and belongings that can occur in a houseful of boys (to be fair to her boys, she said she would describe the heart-warming moments on another day). Not that Nathan was a model child, but I was hard-pressed to think of anything he had broken. Here was my comment (more or less):
Maybe time has erased the portion of my memory reserved for things my son has damaged while growing up, because I cannot recall anything he has actually destroyed. I think I have broken more dishes than he ever did! No, my son was content to turn his destructive capabilities on himself. The catalog of his injuries includes:
*a cut on his chin caused by an unfortunate collision with a wrought iron table when he was a toddler
*about 10 concussions, 2 of which were serious enough to warrant a hospital stay
*a dime-sized hole in his soft palate caused by a plastic ruler (a fraction of an inch in another direction and he would have needed surgery)
*a stubbed toe which caused him to lose a toenail
*a fairly deep cut to his finger which was caused when he was cutting raw cabbage with my chef's knife (he had awoken before me and had decided to make his own lunch for school); he bandaged himself and cleaned up all the blood before he woke me up to tell me what he had done
*a broken elbow sustained while skateboarding
*numerous cuts, scrapes, and scratches which have scarred my beautiful boy
This list does not include the braces and 2 oral surgeries he needed because he was an orthodontic nightmare, or the head-to-toe rash he received after he had been stung by a wasp while in high school (that was the day we discovered he was allergic to bees and would need to carry an epi-pen for the rest of his life...which he has refused to do since he was 18 or 19 years old). This list does not include the time he was driving too fast and ran his car off the road and into a drainage ditch full of water 10 feet deep, making it necessary to kick out the car window in order to keep from drowning. Nor does it include the tattoos down his spine and on the backs of both upper arms, or his 2 piercings (one on his tongue and one below his bottom lip). He has since let the piercings close up but, of course, the tattoos are still there. This list also does not include his potential for injury now that he is in the Army and could possibly be sent into harm's way.
These events throughout my son's life have caused more than a few anxiety-producing moments and I would happily exchange them for any number of broken blinds, ruined haircuts, and shattered light fixtures. If it were not for the gracious, tender-loving care of my Abba God and the peace that comes from Him in spite of all these events, I would probably need to be medicated! I would like to think it is a boy thing, but I suspect it might run deeper than that. My son's baby (a very sweet, precocious, and active 11 month old girl) has recently started walking. She is quick, but unsteady, on her feet. She also has no fear and does not know there are things she cannot yet do...a recipe for potential danger, if you ask me. I have to trust that she, like her father before her (like all of us) is in the strong and capable hands of God Almighty, who is well able to bring good out of every dangerous situation.
5 comments:
Kathie, this post reminds me of one of the reasons I wanted girls so badly. Call me sexist, but as the mother of two boys (who are both mildly autistic), my fear is first for damage to their persons, and then for the damage to my property, and often both happen at the same time. When my husband once found our (at the time) three year old firstborn on top of the refridgerator, the first words out of his mouth were "don't tell your mommy." I do feel like I spend so much time and energy keeping them from killing themselves. I think mothers without boys can rarely ever relate. The self-injuries get old fast; I think of myself as a compassionate person generally speaking, but the guilt of one incident stands out very clearly in my mind when I felt I had been put through the wringer one too many times. My firstborn had yet again run into something hard while he was sprinting forward but looking behind him. I was so irritated as I was trying to get arms full of groceries through the door while juggling to get keys out of my purse and unlock our entry, I actually yelled at him. A few minutes later he was still holding his head while sitting on the couch, and I noticed blood trickling down his hand. One of the challenges with autism is often an inability to communicate proportion or relativity (this nearly cost him his life a couple years ago, probably something akin to refusing to carry an epi pen). It looked like a small cut on his head to me, and I debated not calling his doctor (I was tired, outings with him were always a challenge). Naturally, the pediatrician wanted me to bring him in, and ten stitches later, I conceded that perhaps I should have been a little more sympathetic when he banged his head. I do everything I can to reduce the frequency of "boy induced" boo boos, but thank god for the blessing of being able to cover them in prayer everyday.
Being the mother of a boy (or boys, as the case may be) certainly keeps you on your toes! I can't imagine how difficult it must be if you throw autism into the mix. I don't know how much pain and trauma Nathan has been spared because of his father's and my prayers, as well as the prayers of many others who love him. I am grateful to Father for His protection over Nathan and for His provision of peace and grace. There are times when I wished I could have had what I call a "dumpling baby": a pleasant, placid child that was content to be still; I did not get that, and I will be forever grateful to God for the blessing that is Nathan. It has truly been an adventure being Nathan's mom! He has so much personality, charm, and verve. I have been captivated by him from the moment I laid eyes on him! I see so much of him in Brooklyn, which has sometimes made me nostalgic, but she is definitely her own person (and she is not a dumpling baby, either). She has also captured my heart!
s. a., what you said about your son on top of the refrigerator reminds me of a story about Nathan. He wasn't even 2 years old. We had moved him to a bed because he was climbing out of his crib from the high side. One morning I woke up to this clicking sound. I wasn't sure I was really hearing it at first, but once I realized it was a real sound, not just in my head, I got up. I went to Nathan's room and he wasn't there, so I started looking for him. I found him in the kitchen. He was standing on the counter, the refrigerator to his left and the stove to his right; he had opened a cabinet, taken out his medicine, and was trying to open it. It was a child-proof cap, hence the clicking sound. After I got over my initial fear of visualizing him burning himself on the stove, falling off the counter, or climbing up on the fridge then falling off of that, I realized something. That clever little monkey had pulled out the drawers below the counter and climbed up them like steps! After that moment, we tied a small brass bell to his bedroom doorknob, so we could hear him when he tried to leave his room. We had to remove it when he learned how to open the door without ringing the bell!
Also, I said in my previous comment that my definition of a "dumpling baby" was a pleasant, placid child that was content to be still. I do not want to give the impression that neither Nathan nor Brooklyn were unpleasant, far from it; I was trying to paint a picture of a baby that never made too much noise and never got into anything. I think the curiosity, ingenuity, and activity that Nathan exhibited (and that Brooklyn does, as well) were signs of his intelligence.
Kathie AND S.A--
YOu ladies both sound like amazing mothers--also, God knew exactly who your son(s) needed to be with to fulfill their potential and be who they were created to be.
And I do believe that the prayers of mothers and fathers keep this world more intact than we will ever know--at least, this side of heaven.
Thanks for the encouragement, Jess.
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