My Little Boy

I have had a profound case of writers block the last few weeks. If you couple that with my otherwise busy schedule, I have not really been able to generate any quality posts. You would be amused, however, if you looked through my long list of pending drafts, some with only a sentence or two, others with a paragraph or two. Nonetheless, I have high hopes that this post will make it to the final stages of publishing. Hopefully it was worth the wait.
My son turned 5 yesterday. He starts kindergarten next week. Being a paramedic and a dispatcher has taught me to deal with many situations, both physical and emotional. It has not, however, taught me how to be a parent...much less a parent who is trying to wrap my head around my baby heading off to "big boy school".

Parenthood was, and still is the biggest challenge, I have faced in life. I was not prepared to be a parent. (I still feel that way pretty much every day.) However, there are some things in life that are out of our hands and this most certainly was one of them.
After I completed medic school, I thought I would set off to independently save the world. I was invincible. The call went out for volunteers to respond to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina devastated most of the city. I had long wanted to be bold and adventurous and serve in disaster relief. This opportunity was not about to pass me by. In early March of 2006, I arrived, wide-eyed in La Place, Louisiana along with 3 friends of mine. In spite of having recently completed paramedic school, I was assigned to a roofing crew in the outlying areas of devastation.
When I arrived in Louisiana, my plan in life was to remain single and explore the world with as little responsibility as possible. However, love is a funny thing and in my second week of work, I met my future husband. We married 7 short months later and made our home in Idaho where my husband was born and raised. We had plans of travel and volunteering internationally. But just 2 months after tying the knot, we found out that we were going to be parents. Not exactly the type of adventure we had planned on. But, I suppose, some plans are made to be broken.
I was too sick to keep up with my training on the ambulance and, shortly after my medic career begin, it also ended.
Our son came into this world 2 months before our first anniversary. He was healthy, and, as far as kids go, he has been easy on us. Being a parent, however, has no lack of uncertainty. Every day I wonder and hope that we are raising him to be a "normal" child. As a paramedic, I see every aspect of a scenario that could possibly go wrong and lead to some life-altering injury. Occasionally, I over-think things. (If you ask my husband I always over-think things but we'll save that for another post.) I want my baby to be safe and have fun at the same time. With 5-year-old boys...or quite frankly, any member of the male gender, safe and fun have absolutely no relation to each other. In spite of that fact, I try my best to take a deep breath and let my rambunctious child play to his heart's content. I know he will get scrapes and bruises and cuts and, based sheerly on family history, a broken bone. But, I will do my best to be a "normal" mom who takes all of those things in stride.
For quite some time after our son came into this world, I tried to suppress my desire to return to being a paramedic. I wanted to be one of those moms that people think of as an ideal (or at least o.k.) parent. I didn't think that working long hours, weird schedules and dealing with horrific things was anything that was conducive to raising a semi well-adjusted child. At the same time, though, pushing aside who I had always wanted to be, wasn't benefiting me or our rapidly growing child. So, in early 2011, after long hours of classes, studying, training and testing, I once again had my paramedic certification and license. The next step was to actually find someone who would hire me. I applied repeatedly for a local paid service but they haven't hired anyone in recent years.
I finally decided that, since money was not the motivating factor behind me becoming a paramedic in the first place, I would go to work for the volunteer service near where I live. It has probably been one of the best decisions of my career so far. To volunteer is to know that you do what do you for the sheer love of doing it. Few things can compare to that.
The particular service for which I work not only takes great pride in all that it does but they make every effort to ensure that each of its members feels the same. Our department spends a lot of time on training. There is a strong focus on protocols and operating procedures, especially those that focus on safely doing our job. Our department also does a lot of patting people on the back and making sure that everyone feels they are being used to the best of their abilities. For those reasons, I proudly wear my department shirt at every available opportunity.
Last week, on a trip out of state to visit family, was one of those times. My little boy, happily pointed at my shirt while we were in a gas station and said, "Mommy I like your firefighter shirt." (He knows I work on the ambulance but he still thinks I'm a firefighter and I'm fine with that too.)
His excited acknowledgement of my shirt that evening made me realize some things. First of all, being a mom and a paramedic, although not easy, is possible. Second, my son looks up to me. He loves coming to the station with me if I need to tie up some loose ends. He plays "firefighter" with the garden hose in our backyard. He still says he wants to be like dad when he grows up and "fix things" but at least mom's profession has actually surfaced on his radar.
In spite of the fact that I wish he would stay my sweet little boy forever, he will grow up. And, based upon the rapid passage of the last 5 years, I know that all subsequent years will sail past faster than I would like them to. However, in the span of those years, I have the power to be the best mom I can. And part of that is also being the best paramedic I can. It matters not to me if my son chooses a different profession than the one I have chosen. But, I can wear my uniform with pride and come home at the end of the day feeling good about what I have done. All I can hope for is that my son follows that example and finds something that he is proud to do and that satisfies him in life.