As parents we all have bad days. We raise our voices or lose our cool. We don’t play as much as we should or focus on the little details instead of the big picture. In the end we try to find the best path to raise productive, caring, little versions of ourselves and hope the next generation can do a better job.
Lately, I’ve had a run of poor luck with health issues, back surgeries, tonsillectomies, and now a broken ankle. Apparently, my children have had enough. I’ve been threatened with being put into a large hamster ball to keep me “safe” and now my children are taking matters into their own tiny hands.
I was approached with the sentiment that they were going to “fix” me. Now I have heard of machines being fixed and relationships being fixed but the image that scrambled into my brain happed to be of animals being “fixed”. Not what you want to be thinking when your preschooler is eyeing you with a stethoscope in one hand and a plastic fork in the other.
Now, I used to play pretend doctor when I was a kid. I nursed teddy bears back to health, gave my mother wellness check-ups, I even dissected lizards with a friend when I was older. However, my children take it to a whole other level. The evil laughs and plastic wares were brought in as they consulted one another about which appendage was going to be cut off. The pinnacle point of the appointment was when my middle child told me not to worry he was going to put my brain back in. I’m so relieved about that one; I had been missing my brain…I hate when it strays away.
I was dismissed with an alligator sticker and a kiss and told to get better or I wasn’t going to get a sucker. The joys and scary predictions of what our children will grow up to be now keeps me awake a little longer at night.
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