This was the last week of school. It has been as busy as Christmas. Monday was, well, Monday. Tuesday was field day, which I participated in; three hours of being outside with Nicholas' class while they did various fun activities (I applied sunscreen to the tops of my feet, yet I still have a flip flop tan line.). Wednesday was another "regular" day. And today, Thursday, was awards day, and Nicholas received several awards for being the awesome little kid that he is. And Thursday is also haircut day. And end of the year gymnastics show day. And getting our things packed to go to Camp McDowell day. It's exhausting just blogging about it.
But Nicholas started with the sniffles on Monday. I ignored it in the hopes it would simply go away, knowing what all had to be accomplished by the weekend. He got a little worse on Tuesday. I dosed him with medicine and sent him off to field day. He got more worse on Wednesday, but he had no fever. More meds, and I sent the child off for his last full day of Kindergarten. When I picked him up that day, I could tell before he got in the car that something wasn't right. He climbed in and fell apart, crying his little heart out -- something Nicholas does not do, ever. He said his ears hurt. I cancelled his 3 o'clock haircut and made a hurried call to the pediatrician -- they said to bring him on in. His ears weren't completely infected, but they were going to be without taking action, so a round of antibiotics was prescribed.
Thursday, still no fever, and I knew he'd be out of school by 10:30, so I sent him on. I felt like I had sent him off to the wolves, knowing how miserable he felt. We came home from awards day and ate lunch -- he coughed his head off (some more). A rescheduled haircut was set for 3 o'clock, and off we went. And then, driving home from the hair appointment, I had an epiphany. I was feeling guilty for having pushed him all week long to go to school. Phrases like, "If it weren't the last week..." and "But it's field day..." or "It's awards day..." had taken over my mind. We still had his gymnastics show to go -- had to be there at six to warm up...
Mark and I had talked earlier about gymnastics. Mark already assumed Nicholas wouldn't go. I said, "Oh, but he HAS to." So driving home from the haircut I asked myself why I felt the need to push gymnastics on him even though he was sick and clearly felt terrible. I answered with, "Because I've driven him to Albertville every week for the past nine months, dangit!" And then the darndest thought occured to me: "That's about you, Melanie Hyatt. That has nothing to do with Nicholas." DADGUMMIT! I wanted him to perform in his end of the year gymnastics show for MY benefit -- not his?!?! Not because he'd worked so hard all year long. Not because he'd made a committment and, by golly, he's going to follow through. But because I had sacrificed. I had invested. I had driven. Well. That is not putting my child's needs ahead of my own, and that is NOT good parenting. Where was my unconditional, relentless love for my son, the love I had objectified so vehemently before he was even born?
I felt ashamed. Still though, Nicholas and I had to have one conversation:
Me: Nicholas, how do you feel?
Nicholas: Sick.
Me: Do you want to go to gymnastics?
N: No, I'm sick.
Me: It's the end of the year show -- it's the last time you'll get to go.
N: Mommy, I don't feel good.
Me: Doodah, Nana and Pawpaw are coming to watch. [This was the test; I knew he'd walk barefoot over burning coals for his grandparents.]
Nicholas: (almost pleading at this point) I just can't be there.
We stayed home and had a leisurely dinner. I am sorry Nicholas missed his gymnastics show, but I am glad I (finally) put my son's needs first.
