Saturday was River's first wrestling tournament. He loves to wrestle more than he loves monster trucks. And that's a lot. He likes the moves, the physical contact, the something to work hard for.
But.
But.
Oh sigh, I do not know how to be a parent. Case in point:
River wrestled a boy who weighed 4 pounds more than him, which is like 10% his body weight, which is a lot. And the boy had wrestled for 2 years. The Buzz was a freaking rockstar. The kid had him down and was trying to pin him, and he cried and cried because it hurt, but he wouldn't let his shoulder down and powered through til the bell despite his pain. I was kneeling by the mat and was a confused cluster of a mess. Under what circumstances would we mamas let a big kid hold our kid down and make him cry while we sit at the sidelines and cheer?! It took every last every every everything in me to sit there.
I think the pain freaked Riv out. When the match was over, he wanted to be hugged and held and then wanted nothing to do with me and didn't want to speak to anyone and only wanted to eat his peanut butter sandwich in silence.
Then he seemed to get better and went to play with his teammates.
I ate lunch with another family and we talked about the horrible parenting we had witnessed all day - people being too hard on their kids, getting too into it, someone actually telling their kid to "sit your ass down".
Then it was Riv's turn to wrestle and he insisted that he wasn't doing it. I bribed him with toys and candy and angry birds and dogs and world domination. No go. I told him he didn't have a choice. No go. I finally carried him - crying - to the mat. Ryan, who is head coaching, walked calmly to the table and scratched Riv from the match. He said it's not a thing, we are not putting him out there like that, period, now get over it.
I was mad. I was embarrassed. Mostly mad.
Pride check. Please and thank you. Add my name to the shitlist of parents.
He wrestled his third match, because it was with his teammate. No tears, and he wrestled like a champ. The scrappy little Buzz knows his stuff, and he's strong too.
Then he had two more matches to go, more tears, no no no no no go. I skipped the bribes, took him to the car and drove home. He was asleep before we were 5 miles down the road. Duh mom, this is the middle of the afternoon, and every other day of the year, you insist on me napping at this time.
Navigating this sports thing is seriously exhausting and oh so humbling. I do not know how to make these decisions. I'm not an athlete, but I am very competitive. I want him to win.every.time.dammit. But my gut says scoop up my baby and run far far far away. Yet I get a big lump of pride in my throat when he gets out there and wrestles like a superstar. He begs to wrestle, and loves it. He's also shy. Do we make him finish what he starts? Do we insist on him going back out even when he's scared? Yes we do. No we don't. Yes we do. No we don't. He is barely five. Five!!
So I'm just naming that I don't know how to do this. I guess its about doing the next right thing in each moment? Even if that next right thing is a contradiction to the last right thing?
Oh Humility. There you are again, in no uncertain terms. I suppose I should say thank you.
