Every once in awhile I think that you come to a crossroads as a parent where you're not sure what to do. Sometimes it's a big moment; sometimes it's a big more sedate. My trouble is that most of the time even after the moment passes, I'm still not sure if I did the right thing-- and today was yet another doozy. Sometimes I wish that life was a bit more like school. At the end, you get a multiple-choice exam with clearly marked RIGHT ANSWERS. (I'm sure that you amateur psychologists have at this point figured out that something is horribly wrong with my psyche; oh well.)
Today we went to the inaugural Picnics at the Park ((that's 5:30 on the 1st and 3rd Thursdays at Lynch Park for anyone interested; anyone (but especially families with parents that otherwise couldn't make it to play stuff-- like me-- invited!) Since it was cold and rainy, only a few of us showed up, and pretty soon Elijah was bored of sitting at table with people ten times his age. Seeing a cohort of 8-year-olds playing football, he tried to get them to play with him. Once he figured out they weren't interested in teaching him, he wandered over to a tree and started to climb it.
He successfully navigated up about ten feet high the first time, but a little cavalierly for me. I tried to impress upon him the necessity of looking where you're going, but eh... he couldn't really be bothered. He was too busy showing me where his tail was because he was a monkey. Doing a pretty good impression of it, that's for sure.
He was so good that we dismounted, came over to tell the beautiful mama just what we were doing and ran all the way across the wet grass to do it again. And that's when the trouble started.
That beautiful boy went even higher with more nonchalance. It takes quite a bit to get me nervous with him, but I think that the heights got to me.
<< Real-time update: At this point in the post, I heard Elijah screaming with a night terror. I sprinted upstairs, calmed him down after 5 minutes, but he had awoken Judah. I stuck my head into Judah's room to make sure he was ok-- he projectile vomited six times and I actually freaked out and called Rachel back from her wine-and-schmooze party where she was having so much fun to help me because I'm just having that kinda night... I tell ya, you can't make this stuff up>>
I gently talked him down, and on his way down he ran into a bit of trouble. I don't even know if he thought he was in trouble, but he got down to about 4 feet, and lost his footing. He started regaining his footing while hanging by his little arms, and totally lost his balance and fell, essentially doing a cannonball into the mulch.
Here's the troubling part: I didn't try to catch him. I might not have been able to anyways, but as he fell I was consciously thinking: here's a good life lesson. I had warned him, he took a risk and suffered the (albeit minor in terms of pain and suffering) consequences. But now I feel a little unstable about it. Should I have just caught him -- and continue to try to catch everything life throws at him? Or is this the first of many lessons that I will watch him learn with pain and tears?
I don't like it-- and if the update is any indication, the pain of watching my children learn that the world is not heaven won't be over any time soon.
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