Ya' know, if you know me at all, and even if you don't and just happen to glance in my direction, you'll know I'm not exactly the athletic type. I never have been.
I'm the girl who got hit smack in the face by the ball the very first time I stepped on a volleyball court. I'm the girl who kicked her own legs out from under her when I tried to play soccer with my cousins. I'm the girl who hit the ball twice, only twice, in two whole years of girls' softball. (Granted, I got two triples, being very large, and incidentally, quite busty, for an 11 year old.) I'm the girl who had to be physically picked up and thrown into the deep end of the pool by my swim instructor because I refused to jump in. The year was 1984, and the instuctor, named Drake, was a dead ringer for Magnum P.I. The moms, every mom, stayed right beside the pool to watch him teach their dear children to do the dead man's float. Don't you know that they were all dying for him to physically pick them up and throw them in the deep end? But no. I was the lucky girl he chose.
So it should come as no surpise that secretly, I've hoped, and maybe even prayed a little, that Jonah wouldn't like sports...wouldn't even want to try sports. I'm ashamed of it. I'm even more ashamed to say...it didn't work.
So here we are, in the middle of t-ball season. Jonah is a proud member of the Pirates. And guess who the proud Pirate dugout mom is? That's right...the girl who swore she would never enter a dugout again. Now, no one could keep me away! And guess who's out in the front yard playing catch with Jonah every evening? That's right..the girl who got hit squarely in the face, HARD, when she was playing catch in the front yard with her dad. And guess who got hit squarely in the face by that same man, in that same front yard, this past weekend. Wrong...not me this time. It was poor little Jonah.
And so it begins...