As anyone who knows me or reads my blog knows, I've been looking forward to the Grammys for weeks. I have tried to arm myself with information, I bought music that had been nominated and, of course, I blogged about it. I also tried to somewhat plan my weekend around being free Sunday evening so that I could enjoy the broadcast in a relaxed and interruption-free fashion. I did, however, have a scare earlier Sunday that threatened to derail all my good planning.
I thought I was so well prepared. I started the weekly laundry on Saturday so that it would all be done in plenty of time. My son and I had to be out of the house Sunday morning before 7:00 for a quick six hours at a volleyball tournament. Once back home (early afternoon- panic!), I continued my laundry frenzy, did enough ironing to get my husband through the work week, although I left a pile behind, planned the week's meals and ran to the grocery store. We even had a scare that our somewhat new turtle had worms (why, why did we finally give in to my son's lifelong desire to own a turtle?), so we scurried off to the pet store seeking information (still monitoring Franklin on that matter).
The red carpet coverage began at 5:00 p.m., so I figured as long as I started watching by 5:30 I would be done in time to watch the big event live at 7:00 p.m. I decided we should do make-your-own pizzas for dinner, which is a fancy way of saying that everyone had to get their own supper. The plan was in place, although the timing was still tight.
Then, around mid-afternoon, my daughter told me that her stomach hurt.
I have two kinds of children: two are very stoic and two...are not. Generally, this particular child falls into the first camp. She has only been on antibiotics a handful of times in 18 years and she's never had an injury requiring medical attention. When she ran into a stop sign during cross country practice (literally ran into it while chatting during a run), briefly blacking out, I didn't find out about it until the next day when I got a call from the trainer suggesting that my daughter should sit out the meet the next day because of the suspected concussion. When she stumbled onto a bees' nest on another run, causing her to remove 22 stingers from her legs, she refused to let anyone inspect her. When she's sick, she curls up in a ball and sleeps, not wanting to be disturbed.
Therefore, I was somewhat alarmed when she complained of stomach pain. My daughter tends to believe that all illnesses and injuries are psychosomatic, prompting me to urge her to reconsider her plans to study nursing when she goes to college next year. My immediate thought was obviously that she was suffering from appendicitis- what else could possibly be causing stomach discomfort? And this is where my confession comes in.
I imagined myself taking my daughter to the hospital, thus missing my beloved Grammy awards. What does that say about me as a mom? I actually pondered whether the hospital might have wireless internet access, allowing me to monitor the action remotely. I therefore did what any good mother would do: nothing. My position is always that if something is serious enough, the child will continue to complain and at that point we can seek medical attention. If not, we've saved ourselves a trip to the doctor or, in this case, some unnecessary surgery. This strategy works about 90% of the time, and about 10% of the time I wait too long to have the child seem, inducing great feelings of guilt. I think I still have the odds on my side.
The story has a happy ending, though I'm still plagued with some lingering feelings of guilt. The kids and I all watched the Grammys together, and they supplied me with plenty of one-liners to include in my blog. Today I texted my daughter asking how her stomach was. The answer: fine.
Filed under: Parenting