Surviving Milestones

When I had my first baby, I just couldn't wait for all the milestones: rolling over, walking, talking, first tooth, etc.

Had I been wise, my fervent wish would have been for a perpetual newborn, at least for the first year or so. What I (and probably you) never realized, until after squeezing a kid out, is that every one of these milestones creates yet a new challenge.

Take the rolling over thing. Kids do this with absolutely no forewarning. With our kids, acrobats-in-training, they craftily decided to try this sideways maneuver for the first time whilst on the master bed. First kid hit the floor on his first attempt. SECOND kid hit the floor on his first AND second attempts. I have no idea what happened to the Babe, so I'm guessing we finally got it right with him.

Walking? If that isn't the beginning of stroke symptoms, I don't know what is. All the sudden, every thing is a hazard in a house you THOUGHT you had baby proofed. Each of my budding pedestrians managed to walk early, before 12 months. One, over the course of about 14 months, also became a human experiment in pediatric stitches and earned his way to the ER three times for three sets of thread.

And we parents look forward to these events? Please.

Now I am in the throes of worrying about injury on the sports field. Frankly, I've been here for several years, but it has about reached fever pitch for me.

Last season I had a child on the lacrosse field wearing protection for the mouth/head/shoulder/full arm/hand. And a cup, to boot. When I was growing up and you brandished a big arse stick, nobody else bearing a stick wore combat gear. But, if you play lacrosse, you not only get complete upper-body protection, but goodie protection as well, all for the low-low price of about $250*.

Now I have a gent on the football field. Thankfully, we're still in flag mode because I'd need an elephant tranquilizer to make it through tackle games. I just don't think my nerves could take the incessant violence inflicted upon my little boy's body.

For the lovely game of flag you need but one piece of equipment, which, thankfully, is not optional: a mouthpiece. I guess a group of Moms like me must have implemented that rule because Dad's would have found it cool to have a son with broken and/or missing teeth. Can't you hear it? "Yeah. He lost it on the football field."**

The Babe is now a soccer stud. For his sport, we're into padding the legs. Seems soccer balls, cleat-bearing shoes, and shins don't mix. For the life of me, I have never understood why cups aren't used in this game. Even I have had the tar pounded out of me by a kick to the groin. Let's just say the young stud who inflicted the kick was showing ME what it felt like. I'm a fast learner in the physical pain department and I never did that again to any other human being, for fear of puke-inducing-groin-kicking retaliation.

So, I'm in for another Fall of "Please, Lord, don't let anybody get hurt during this game/practice today."

If I can survive karate, flag football, and soccer for about seven weeks and the ER doesn't see anybody with the last name NOWELL, I'll be a really happy AND thankful Mom come Turkey Day.


*And that's the "recycled" equipment. The new stuff costs about as much as a small Kia.

**Followed by a knuckle exchange, chest bump, or approving nod.