We found out today that my son broke his thumb.
Nine days ago.
N-I-N-E full days ago.
For NINE days my son has been going around doing life with a broken thumb.
How could this happen you ask? What kind of mother am I? I cried in the office when the doc said it was, in fact, broken. I laughed through my tears when he showed us the exact spot of the fracture.
I know I’m not a delinquent parent. I pay (very close) attention to my kids. So how in the world did I miss a broken bone?
Apparently kids are more resilient than we ever give them credit for. They rebound from adversity in ways that I know are no longer possible for me as a middle aged woman. My multi focal contact lenses and tens muscle therapy unit on my night table speak to that. Clearly kids have no problem continuing to live a very full life with broken appendages.
Did I think it was broken when he did hand stands in the yard? No.
Did I think it was broken when we practiced spelling words all week on a dry erase board? No.
Did I think it was broken when he was editing movies and creating music in Garage Band? No.
Did I think it was broken when he spent countless hours over the week building a new netherworld in Minecraft? (I have no idea if any of those words are accurate but the answer is still no.)
While we watched the thumb, and tended to it, he never really seemed to be in much pain. There was no bruising. And he could obviously move it. I kept repeating the old adage that if he could move it, it can’t be broken.
So, if you are having a bad parenting day, please keep me in mind. Remember, I am a mother who spent nine full days with her child and his very broken thumb and did not know it. The bar for basic parenting has been officially lowered. You’re welcome.
Hang in there, y’all. xo
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