My little man
DS1 came home from his first conference soccer game last night and said “Can you make me a doctor appointment for Thursday morning? I can’t run.”
Questioning him did no good. I couldn’t even get out of him clearly whether they had won or lost, what the score was or if he had even played! All I got was “It hurts.” Where? How bad? What kind of hurt? Forget it, mom. You just don’t understand. So I called the after hours nurse and let her triage what was going on. “Have the doctor see him within 72 hours and don’t sprint tomorrow during practice.”
Today, he comes home from practice with his foot wrapped and taped by the trainer. He’s crabby as an old bear and won’t say anything other than “It hurts!” Grudgingly, he helps carry in groceries. When I go looking for him 2 seconds later, he’s laying on the couch with a blanket watch “Mr. Rogers.” Because apparently, that’s what all 16 year old boys who have an owie like to watch, dreaming that their mommy would actually have pity on them and feed them soup and play cards with them because their foot hurts.
“Have you iced it?”
“No.”
“Have you taken anything?”
“No.”
“Here’s some ibuprofen.”
“I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”
“Just take it and quit arguing with me!”
Of course, if I tell them to go out and mow the lawn, I’ll be accused of child abuse because “My foot hurts!”
Except for the willingness to see the doctor (which I’m sure he’ll be cured of within a year), sounds like every other man I’ve known when he feels a little under the weather.
I’m so proud.
(now watch, I’ll find out tomorrow that he has some lesion on his bones and will need an operation. Yes. I’m that crazy.)
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A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…
August 30th, 2007 at 6:37 pm
It sounds like he’s growing into a fine young man.