I suppose it’s inevitable that with World Cup fever sweeping the country (a little more muted now England is out) my thoughts should turn to football.
When I gave birth to my second boy, I dreaded the fact that my life would probably become dominated by the sport. Giving in to demands for the latest prohibitive kit, standing in the rain by a soggy pitch cheering them on, fighting to watch my own programmes on TV if football is on. With one boy I might have got away with it, but surely not with two?
Maybe I should be careful what I wish for, but it seems I did get away with it.
T has never really got into football at all. He’ll join in a kick-around sometimes, but has always been much more keen on Lego or role-play games. He’s inherited my own cack-handedness when it comes to ball games!
His younger brother seemed completely different. Almost as soon as he was walking without falling over, Pudding loved football. His left kick was super-strong and shockingly accurate. This was going to be his strength I guessed. I knew he was behind on language and other things but on the football field he would shine. Once he got over his habit of picking up the ball and running away that is. (We did think for a while that he was more suited to rugby!)
But the months went by and we were punched in the guts by his diagnosis of MPS, and that prospect became less likely. His mainstream peers got faster and more agile. They learnt the rules and were sometimes less tolerant of Pudding’s tendency to interrupt the flow of the game.
He will never know the camaraderie of working together on the pitch or supporting his favourite team. Some Manchester City players visited hospital when we there and Pudding was happy to show off his football skills and say hello. But he had no concept that other boys his age would have been over the moon to meet some real live football players. He has completely ignored any games shown on the TV – apart from Footie Pups on CBeebies!
So it looks like I’ll never be a football mum.
I can’t really mourn something that I never wanted in the first place. But what I will continue to mourn is the condition that has taken this away from him.
Of course, he doesn’t know any different. He still loves kicking a ball around and grins widely if he scores a ‘goal’. His favourite treat in the world would be a big field, a ball and lots of people he loves there to play with him.
His joy in football is infectious. And I’m happy to meet him there on his own terms.