Every once in a while we as parents get to watch our child’s dream come true. Little League (T-ball actually, but don’t tell Boss that) has been all we’ve talked about in this house for almost two years while Boss waited not-so-patiently to be old enough to play. While he waited he studied Bryce Harper, watched games on TV, went to the batting cage with Daddy, and practiced, practiced, practiced. Asking me almost every day “is it time for my Little League?”
Finally this Spring I was able to say yes, baby, it’s Little League time. He took to the field like a champ and didn’t suffer anyone on his team not taking it seriously. The second game of the season I caught him talking smack to the kid who was on base while he was playing 3rd. “Max!” I snapped. “It’s okay” said the other teams coach “Smack talk is totally allowed.” Apparently so is spitting. Thanks Coach. We now have on ON FIELD RULE in play for spitting, scratching and smack talk.
He loves baseball, he loves Little League. Every morning he asks “Is today my game?” and I love nothing more than being able to say “It’s game day!” Last week it rained all week cancelling Monday and Wednesdays games. Boss was heartbroken. Daddy made it up to him by letting him play pitcher in the first inning of Saturdays slightly muddy game. Pitcher is where the action is, even in T-ball. Especially if you wind up and pretend pitch when someone is up to bat. Never miss a chance to practice your form is the motto of the Boss.
The batter hit the ball straight to him, it bounced up and slammed into his mouth. I am not sure how I got on the field. I think I actually may have blacked out. One moment I was behind the fence and the next my feet were crunching the dirt of pitcher’s mound. Coach Daddy and Assistant Coach Kris had already gotten to him, his face red, eyes welling with tears. His baseball glove covering his mouth as I reached for him, expecting sun warmed chubby arms to wrap around me, letting me carry him to the dugout. He was nodding to the Coaches “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Fighting tears still. Then he saw me. He gave me a look. A look that clearly said What. the. fuck. are you doing here? Then he said with utter disdain GET OFF THE FIELD!
So I did. All the parents worriedly asking me what he said and then laughing when I told them. Boss meanwhile went right back to playing ball, playing his heart out. I could tell he was hurting, he protected his mouth the rest of the game but he kept on playing. I was so proud of him. The other teams Coach and team cheered for him, Coach telling me after the game “He is a baller!”, and he is. Later, he let me snuggle him and make sure he was alright. But like spitting is forbidden at home; snuggling is forbidden on the field.
Yup. Sometimes they want just want their mommy. And sometimes they just want you to get the hell off the field.