I know I’ve blogged about J Boy playing (or not playing) rugby before. I’ve blogged about safety (Is rugby safe for my little boy?) and my own pitiful ignorance (Rugby tag, this year’s surprise festival).
I’ve embarked on a steep learning curve and kissed good bye to my Saturday lay-ins. I’m reluctantly about to become a rugby mom.
Boy collected his new mouth guard yesterday. (Last year, he freaked out at the fitting and EBay came to the rescue). Overnight he has become a boy transformed. Suddenly, rugby is cool.
Collecting him from school yesterday, a sweaty, muddy, grinning mini-savage greeted me, Not much of a change from usual. Except, in this case, it was games lesson sweat, and rugby pitch mud, sanctified by the official school fixture list. His angelic little smile disfigured by a pillar box red mouth guard. He looked like the lovechild of Peppa Pig and Hannibal Lecter.
Boy (who declared last year he HATED rugby) was thrilled that he had made it into the team. And his Opro mouth guard has become his new best friend.He’s not actually tucking it up in bed with him yet, but is showing a worrying obsession with making sure it’s kept clean, and ready for action.
And me? Pleased for Boy, obviously. It’s a big step forward. He is really starting to come out of himself. And I am sure all that running around will do his lungs no end of good (if he survives being tackled into the Cricklade mud).
By nature, I’m a worrier. I should be reassured that there’s medical assistance on standby. But I’m not. I’m too busy assessing the likelihood of fractures to follow the intricacies of play. (And, no, it’s not reassuring to know that, at least, his teeth should be OK).
So, I’m happy for Boy. Of course, I am. He’s growing into himself. And I’m sure that the exercise and fighting spirit are good for CF (though less sure about the vertical submersion in mud).
But, if I’m honest, I’d really rather be blowing up balloons and icing cupcakes. Loser, as my newly emboldened son would say.
This week, I’m belatedly linking to the lovely Jaime at Oliver’s Madhouse, it is a #magicmoment, of sorts.
Also linking to #smallstepsamazingachievements. Because it is. I may be in a tizzy about how the mud and the damp may affect Boy’s chest (thought I could detect the begnnings of a cough this morning, but, putting CF to one side, it’s great that he’s taking part and getting that bit of normality. And I am sure the shouting at the touchline (if that’s the correct word, witll do my lungs a load of good).