How in the world do mothers of Olympians do it? Standing on the sidelines, hearts in their throats, watching their precious children chase dreams, wanting more than anything (anything at all) for them to succeed and, if they fail, wanting even more desperately to take their disappointment and sadness away. And, if they do succeed. My goodness. The tears. The joy. The pride.
In a little 8-child weekly Rock Climbing class at the YMCA today. The fourth week of class. The fourth of week of “do you really think I can do it, Mommy? Really?” The fourth week of “Yes. You can. I know you can.”
Well, today. He did. Big Brother rang the bell.
And, I was a hooting, hollering lunatic behind the rock wall chains. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was over and suddenly the area around me was, well, not filled with the sound of me yelling anymore. If he was any older he would have been so completely mortified by my behavior.
Instead, he’s just so proud of himself he could burst. And he can’t wait for Dad to come home so he can bask in sharing his big news.
Way to go, sweetie. The first of many big things.
Confessions of a Serial Swooper 
