The strangest sensation crept over me today as I hurriedly left dinner dishes on the table to russle the kid in the car with baseball glove in hand. I have hit motherhood, and a whole new stage at that. Good-bye spit up, baby rattles, and diapers. Hello camp chair on the side-lines. I was struck for some reason when my husband mentioned that practice was from 5:30 to 7:00. Good God, he's 4. It's T-ball! 1 1/2 hours- Realllllly!??? I was rushed and stressed and felt like a busy, working, t-ball mom! Ack! In my mind somewhere instead, I am this peaceful, zen like world traveling, music and dancing loving, sunbathing mom. How did THIS side come out of me? Where did this mom come from? Is it inevitable? Have I been thrown into a 15 year stint as a mom taxi? I am thrilled for him, and anticipate jubilation at his first good catch or home run.
Once, my brother "hit the ball over the fence." That day has gone down in our own family history and I am pretty sure he still has that little league baseball. My dad coached my T-ball team, though I didn't play often, because, well, I suck at hand-eye-coordination and I "throw like a girl." None the less, I expect that Ollie will enjoy the benefits of being around other 4 year olds, hearing a cheering crowd, basking in the spring time sun, and just try and get him out of his new baseball socks - no way! So if you see a mom sitting on the sidelines, knitting, reading, or with a far away look in her eyes, it's probably me, but I am pretending in my mind to be in a South American country on holiday.