Sunday, 22 February 2009

Growing pains

A week today, my baby boy will be five. How is this possible? How? I found a pair of his bootees the other day and sobbed for ten minutes because he'll never wear them again. Quite apart from the fact that they're far too small for him now, they're yellow. And he hates "lellow mummy".

Now that my five year old baby is growing up he doesn't need me as much. I felt this oh so keenly last Sunday when he began football training at the park. David and I stood with other parents and grandparents watching as our pride and joys ran round in the mud. After his initial assessment done by a man who looked and sounded like a Sargeant Major ("C'mon boys, keep those knees up!") we received the outcome whilst the child himself stood gasping for air with his hopeful colleagues. It was agreed that, going on the initial assessment, Mac would play in midfield "until his true position has uncovered itself". It turned out that all of the boys were to play in midfield which prompted David to make the remark that "Millwall do that". Sargeant Major did not look impressed.

During one game in which all boys were encouraged to "shoot and defend" Mac fell over quite spectacularly after receiving a well aimed tackle from a child at least a foot taller than him. My heart stopped before leaping into my mouth: David had to physically restrain me from running onto the pitch, picking him up and "kissing it better".

My boy stood up, shook himself and very visibly pulled himself together before carrying on. This was a child that, on the Friday before, walked into a wall (too busy chatting to his friends) and came running to me sobbing. Then he sustained no bruises (other than his pride) but had to have a cuddle and the promise of ice cream for pudding before he stopped wailing. Last Sunday he acquired four bruises, one cut leg and a swelling cheek and wore them all with pride with not even a nod to my maternal instinct to smother, look after and kiss better. Even when I drenched him in TCP he didn't cry.

Needless to say, David took him on his own this morning.

We're taking a handful of his friends to the cinema on Saturday afternoon - the majority of them want to see Hotel for Dogs but some of them are just going for the chance to eat pick 'n' mix all afternoon. I'm more than a little wary of this - Mac attended a birthday party last Wednesday. When I dropped him off he was clean, neat and tidy. When I picked him up he was scruffy, sweaty, tearful and bouncing off the walls. Dawn had similar problems with Jonathan so had called the mother of the birthday boy. "Oh yes!" she had told Dawn "My husband's mother dropped in and she'd bulk bought sweeties as a treat!" The "treat" left my son with a headache and a twitch that didn't go away until Thursday afternoon.

But now it's me with the twitch. QVC have an hour of Philosophy now and so I'm off to stock up on my own treats!


Martin said...

The outlook for things getting better quickly is dim, despite forecasts of rain this week. Last month, California officials estimated the snowpack in the Sierra, a primary source of water for the state when it melts in the spring, at 61 percent of normal.

Rosie Scribble said...

My baby will be 6 in July, luckily she is still quite clingy but that will be gone soon. I'm not really looking forward to it. If she was playing football though I'd be out on the pitch dragging her off at the first sign of trouble!

aims said...

Sounds like he's growing in leaps and bounds. Hopefully he won't be looking for his briefcase next month and be going off to work just like Daddy. Or has that already happened?

Anonymous said...

Another QVC fan! Mac is growing up I guess but he'll always need his mum, maybe just behind closed doors!

CJ xx

Laura McIntyre said...

Oh 5 it sounds so scary and so big, my eldest will be 4 in June and even that terrifies me . I hope he has a lovely birthday

All about me

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Nunhead, London, United Kingdom
I'm a mum of one, wife of one and owner to several dogs, a variety of breeds and sizes. I live in the up and coming area (or so they say) of Nunhead and have mad neighbours, strange friends and certifiable relatives. I shop locally, although I do defect to Sainsburys once a week - shoot me now local shopkeepers.