e are entering a new phase of parenthood: The phase in which our kids participate in organized team sports. They have been playing sports their whole lives, of course, but now things are getting real.
They are on actual baseball teams, with uniforms, coaches, practices and games. All of that.
This adventure is my husband’s idea. He has fond memories of playing little league as a kid and wants our boys to have the same opportunity to form those friendships, learn to play, learn to compete. Everyone is excited.
Everyone but me.
Everyone is excited but me because I have a secret, one I fear will be revealed publicly in the next few months.
I am competitive.
I mean very, very competitive.
In my adult life, this quality makes me a valued employee, an organized mom, a reliable team member. But I’m afraid it will make me a nightmare on the sidelines.
I have glimpsed this alter ego in my childrens' first sporting endeavors. There’s something volatile about the combination of my desire to win and my Mama Bear mindset. It’s all I can do to keep it together, and yeah, I know, it’s park district soccer but sometimes I have to walk away.
I grew up playing sports like soccer and softball and I was a high school varsity basketball player, albeit not a particularly good one. Coach Royal used to shake his head at me after I missed layup after layup in practice.
“Good thing you’re an honor student, Reid!” he would laugh, and I would shrug and try again.
Good thing, indeed.
W