I love my child, I do. But when she phones me from school only minutes after arriving, pleading for me to drop off her Spanish books, I could cheerfully throttle her. Good thing I’m working from home today.
It feels like we’re approaching a wall really fast. Bretonne Bestie and I were on Whatsapp the other day, and she pointed out that it didn’t sound like DD was leaving much time in her life to rest or be a child. Agreed! Her schedule reads like an endurance training program every week – debate club, ballet, robotics, ballet, violin, newspaper, ballet, choir, vocal coaching, drama….and then homework squeezed in to every nook and cranny available. (I should add here that I did not sign her up for a single one of these things. I just pay for them.)
I’m stretched trying to keep her fed and watered and getting her where she needs to be all over London, so I’m not surprised that she’s starting to feel the physical strains of her schedule. Her hips hurt. Her ankles hurt. Her feet are battered. Ten hours isn’t enough sleep for her. Puberty isn’t kind to anyone, but it’s especially cruel to young athletes. DD has had a growth spurt of a centimetre a month, which is throwing off her balance and coordination (a common issue in pubescent athletes, but it’s still freaking her out). As a chronic worrier, are her aching bones the signs of growth plates groaning? Possible permanent damage?
Last night, as we were waiting for the paint on her art project to dry at 10pm, I gently suggested to DD that she might need to re-evaluate her schedule (for her sanity as much as my own), but I don’t think the message went over so well. I have never exercised the “because-I’m-the-mother/parent/grown-up” roar, but I’m about ready to open a can of it today!
How’s your week going?