My five-year-old son received a birthday party invitation just after he broke his elbow. He was on the couch in a stupor of pain medication and full-arm cast.
I wanted him to go to the party, but it didn’t seem like he would ever be well again. I teetered back and forth between “accept” and “decline.” Finally, I called the birthday boy’s mom and explained the predicament.
“I’ll put you both down as a yes,” she said.
“I know… he’d love to come…but his arm’s in a cast.”
At the time, he growled every time we had to move it. Slinging his arm to go to the toilet was barely happening.
“They have a ramp. He can use the ramp. He’ll be fine.”
She certainly sounded confident, and I did NOT want him to miss a party with friends he hadn’t seen all summer just before school started.
I accepted (for both of us) and spent three weeks in anticipation. Would he get hurt? Could he handle a ball? What if he had to sit on the side watching the other kids because he couldn’t play? Would this be his worst childhood experience, the stuff of psychotherapy?
The next day, he was off the couch, but had to sit or lie down every few hours because his arm hurt. The day after that, he was running in and out of the house, up and down the stairs with little problem. A day later, he was rolling around on his bed being a ninja.
No-Drama Mama was right! He’d be fine.
He made a card and dressed early for the party today, excited to show off his cast. The other kids (yes! It was a coed party!) touched it and admired it.
A minute later, it was all forgotten as they bowled, my son included, no ramp! They jumped and high-fived, laughed and made fart noises. It was amazing…
Thank you No-Drama Mama. You are my new Oprah.