My son is a superhero. Sometimes, he is the kind who punches like a champion and makes terrific messes that no one wants to clear up. Seriously, he is very good at those. And I am often on the uncomfortable end when he needs a jungle gym or a fight scene. But other times, he is the even better kind of hero.
This morning, I was not doing so well. I woke up in the middle of a nasty flare-up, so bad that I still can’t relax my shoulders and typing is slow. I also might be starting in on a cold. Owen is apparently having the best day of his life, because he’s been running around yelling and singing and the first thing he did was hand me a bare banana because it was “Yucky!” and he didn’t want it anymore.
So I was holding this admittedly yucky banana in one of my swollen hands and I just started whining that I was sick. Owen looked at me like he was paying rapt attention (this is incredibly rare) and then said, “Oh, Mama sick? I get a band-aid.”
I was touched by the fact that he even looked at me, let alone acknowledged that I felt awful. The thing about the band-aid is from his favourite episode of Pingu, where (among other things) Pingu gets bullied and his mummy puts bandages on his head.
When Owen came back with a band-aid in his hand, I almost had a sentimental cry. It was the sweetest thing he has done all week. Sometimes he’s just like that, and I wonder if maybe I’m not screwing up this parenting thing.
I have no idea where he got the band-aid, though. I hope he didn’t raid the medicine closet…