Operation: Registration

Day 55: SIGN BIG C UP FOR BASEBALL

Today marks the end of my daily goals.  Tomorrow I switch to weekly challenges. I wish I could say I accomplished something monumentally spectacular as a kind of grand finale, but I didn’t. My final daily challenge was less a grand gesture than a series of emotional hurdles. 

I registered Big C for baseball. The process took all of about 15 minutes, including driving time, and the only physical effort I put forth was writing the check. But the simple act of signing the parental consent on that registration form opened the door to a whole new experience to come.

Big C is a seasoned t-ball player. Well, at the very least, he played for 2 seasons. But now that he has turned the ripe age of 6, he will be participating in the Jr. Farm league. No more t-ball.  Emotional Hurdle #1: My baby is no longer a baby anymore.  He’s playing in the big leagues now.

When I first signed Big C up for t-ball, I chose a league for the sole purpose of my own social comfort. A couple of the other preschool moms recommended the league, and even though we had to drive clear across town in rush hour traffic, the idea of chatting with my girls while our sons ran around the field was highly appealing.

But this season we decided to switch to the baseball league that is in bike riding distance from our house. The drive is shorter, and Big C will get to know other boys from his elementary school. Most parents’ concern would be their child’s apprehension about not knowing anyone. But Big C possesses the social adaptability of a veteran military brat.  He could befriend a brick wall.  No, my concern is me. I’m the one walking into practice wondering if the other moms will like me and ask me for playdates.  Emotional Hurdle #2: Aw, come on, do I have to?  But, I won’t know anyone.

Finally, there’s Emotional Hurdle #3: My husband is going to miss the entire season.  At t-ball he was always one of the dads out there hitting grounders to the kids before the game and in the outfield directing players during the game (because, in case you’ve never seen 5-year-olds play t-ball, they’re either too preoccupied drawing in the sand with their cleats or they have forgotten the concept of the game altogether).

But the fact that we’re starting the baseball season with the knowledge that he isn’t going to see a single game of Big C’s first big league baseball game is heartbreaking.  You would think I’d be used to this heartbreak by now. But I’m not.

I don’t think I ever will be.