Yesterday, Jackson burned his hand on the side of a pan while helping cook dinner. His excitement and pride to help in such a grown up way was sharply juxtaposed against the fear and shock of the pain from the burn within a matter of seconds. Outwardly, I remained calm and soothing, but an inner turmoil bubbled at the surface of my emotions.
My little boy is growing up. And while my natural instinct is to make everything better, make the pain go away, to soothe away the mishap, even to work to prevent the burns and bruises and cuts and scrapes, I knew that it's imperative that he is allowed the experience. I have to let him see that with choices and actions, come particular consequences. When we take risks, sometimes we get hurt, and the next time around, sometimes we weigh our options more, or think twice, or act with a sharper degree of caution. He has to learn how to live through experience. If I deny him this learning opportunity by hovering and helicoptering and preventing any chance of pain or mistake, I risk marring his natural ability to learn to navigate his own world as he grows up and away into his own actions and decisions. It is hardly an easy parental pill to swallow.
In that moment where we ran his fingers under water, and he howled with a fear and pain that had yet been known, I hurt for him, and I hurt with him. But I endured the pain too, because I know it's a necessary part of growing up, for both of us.
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