Mother's Pride

When my little 7 year old (then 6) won a prize for 'best attitude' at a football competition, I thought I would burst with pride. She had played her little heart out all week. She'd hacked the boys, leapt around acrobatically in goal, scored a bagful of goals and above all, had suceeded in silencing the mini Andy Grays - 'she's just a girl....she'll be rubbish...'

There's nothing quite like seeing your child achieve something like that - especially when they have a grin from ear to ear when they see how proud their mum is.

Yesterday was the 7 year old's very first gymnastics competition. She loves gymnastics, and this competition was in Berwick - a couple of hours north. The coach had organised a bus to leave Hexham at 7.30am, and we all piled on - bleary eyed and yawning. The coach had asked us to 'do' our girl's hair in French plaits for the competition. I didn't have a clue how to do this, and fortunately neither did a load of other mums! Volunteers were recruited for mums and some of the older gymnasts who could do French plaits, and the bus soon turned into an amazing hairdressing salon with nimble fingers knitting the girls' hair. Shooshes of glittery hair spray were applied to match the sparkles on their leotards. The girls looked great.

The competition itself was really entertaining. Our little girls had a short routine on the mats to complete in front of a grumpy looking old man who was the judge. I couldn't imagine him ever leaping over a vault or flik-flakking across the room, but he seemed to know what he was doing, and he scribbled lots of notes as they took it in turns to perform their 20 second compilation of moves.

After the routines, the girls were herded back to their 'holding area,' where they could watch the older girls competing. Boredom soon set in , fidgeting and general rolling about. After a while, my 7 year old appeared - crying and holding her arm against her body.

'I can't move my arm,' she sobbed.

'Oh God,' I thought - it looked serious - she's a tough cookie usually, and I didn't like the way she was cradling her arm. My immediate thoughts in this order and at this speed were - 'brokenarmfivehoursincasualtyinbloodyBerwickhowwillwegethomearminplasterhowwillshewriteshewon'tbeabletodogymnasticsinfacthowwillshedoanythingwithabigbloodyplasteronherarm........'

HOWEVER, her little friend's mum suddenly announced that she was a doctor in an Accident and Emergency unit. I was amazed. I thought she was...well, just a mum! Would I mind if she looked at it.

'Absolutelpleasedoifyouknowwhatyou'redoingthatsgreatpleasehavealook...' I was now talking at the same rate that I was thinking.

She suspected that my 7 year old had dislocated her elbow, and with a gentle squeeze of her hand, and a little bit of reassurance, she turned my little girl's arm. 'Pop!' it was back in place. Cured. Fixed. Sorted. No casualty needed, no x-rays, no plasters....a miracle! It was a very surreal moment. Almost Jesus-like! 'Giveth me thine daughter and I shall make her cartwheel again...'

I delivered her back to the holding area in time for the results and the presentation of medals.

In the 7 year old's competition, the daughter of my new Doctor friend won the bronze medal. Not only had she performed a miracle cure for my little girl, but her little girl was now proudly standing on the podium - bursting with joy, and glancing over to her mum who reflected her daughter's smiles.

In second place was a little girl from Berwick. More smiles, photos, proud parents.

I could see my little girl watching the announcer's lips. I have to admit that I was thinking 'gosh, wouldn't it be great if she...'

And then he announced the winner. It wasn't my little girl. It was one of her pals. It was the little girl who's mum died very suddenly and unexpectedly just over a year ago. The coach had accompanied her to the competition because her dad had to look after her 2 younger sisters at home. She collected her medal and clambered onto the podium. The whole of our club clapped and whooped and cheered. We knew the story. We wanted her to feel the joy we had for her as she stood there. Her mum wasn't there, her dad couldn't be there, but we were all there for her....

I'm not sure if she was just overwhelmed, but that lovely little girl didn't smile and she didn't seem to hear the applause. We took photos for her dad, but she didn't really look up to catch our eye. Despite the presence of all her gymnastics family, she looked so lonely up there on the podium. I cried for her, and for her mum who  should have been 'bursting with pride' at that very moment.

The bus journey home was quiet. Tired gymnasts, tired grown ups. An emotional day.
My little elbow girl was back to her chatty, fidgety self - flinging her arm around and practicing how to say 'dislocated elbow' fluently so that she could show off at school the next day.
Our little gold medal winner, meanwhile, was back to smiles as she tucked in to her packed lunch goodies, the medal still around her neck. There will be many more gold medal occasions throughout this lovely girl's life, and I truly hope that over the years, even without her mum there, she learns how to hold her head up, smile and enjoy these moments...