He is The New Clint Dempsey

Last night marked Davey’s first foray into a team sport. He’s not three for another month and technically he’s not supposed to play until his three, but being the aggressive, fighting mother that I am, I fought to get him into the fall soccer league at the Y.

Yesterday started out much like any other day. We ate breakfast, got dressed, and went to the Y for my morning workout. When we pulled into the parking lot, the employees were busy setting up the toddler nets and spraying painting the freshly mowed fields. Davey’s comment, “they’re getting it ready for meeee.” And yes, he did draw out that “me”. Adorable, I know!

Warm Up

After leaving the Y, nothing more was said about soccer. I suppose it was just another thing that flitted out of his mind as he moved onto something else. Me? Not the case. I was excited all day. I practically couldn’t even eat as I watched the clock tick down and I ran through the check list of things I would need to bring. With each passing hour, this thought came into my head, “I’m a soccer mom.” How exciting!

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I’ve looked forward to a day like this for quite some time. I’ve dreamed about the activities Davey would participate in when he got older, whether that be sports, academics, music, or whatever his heart desires. I’ve become lost in thought about how I would (and will) shuffle him through to all of his activities. I haven’t stressed about it, but instead I’ve longed for it. I’m not sure why.

As the hour of his first practice arrived, I put him in his soccer gear, and watched as he ran around the front yard in his cleats proclaiming to me, “mommy, I’m going to be the fastest.” Way to set a goal, my son! I’m proud of you. When my husband pulled into the driveway, the boys and I were already loaded into the truck and ready to go. Was I nervous? For the first time, YES!

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I panicked for a few minutes about how well he would fit in with the other kids. I worried that he wouldn’t pay attention to his coach, or that he would want to sit with me, or that he would become too aggressive. All of my worries were completely unfounded. Not only is my boy a natural athlete (something he gets from his father, not me), but he’s also a true team player.

He scored three goals. The coach commented on his strong leg and how well he runs (dribbles) the ball. Atta boy, Davey! He stretched with the kids, cheered his teammates on when they scored, and even refused to shove a little girl back when she shoved him. I’m a little torn on that as I don’t want him to just stand by idly while other kids beat up on him, but I am proud that something is seeping through with my teachings in that we don’t hit or shove others.

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All in all, last night was a huge success. I’m pleased with Davey and how well he did for an hour. And as a side note…I fought for my baby to get into the fall season and his attention span is better than some of the other three and four year olds and HE’S THE BIGGEST ON HIS TEAM. I shouldn’t be so shocked about that, but I am considering the fact that he’s surrounded by kids a year older than him (some almost 2), and he’s so tall.

Time will tell just how well he’ll do, so until next week we’ll just bask in the glory of the huge accomplishment from last night.

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A Familiar Sadness

I sat there in stone silence, both boys sleeping upstairs. I had just opened the freezer when the realization of where I was stared right back at me. There were only two left. TWO! Where had they all gone? Why so quickly? I felt a sadness in my heart as I closed the door and slowly walked over to the couch. I couldn’t believe this time had come so soon. I’d secretly longed for it, but still secretly hoped that it would take a while before this day arrived. Some of you won’t understand my pain, but others will.

I’m a huge proponent for nursing. I firmly believe it is the best thing for your baby and if you are capable of doing it, then you SHOULD be doing it. Not only does the milk pack nutrients it in you’d NEVER see from a formula, but it also creates that special bond between mother and child. I only nurse Henry once a day now just because my supply started drying up too quickly, but I relish in that once a day nursing when he’s ALL MINE. No one else is needed like I am and no one else can provide him what I can. I love those 15-20 minutes when he’s nursing and there’s no one else around us. I love the looks I receive, the tender caresses, and then the immediate nuzzles after he’s full. That’s my time and my time alone. Of course, I was spending a certain amount of time freezing milk as well, but those days have quickly dwindled. There are now only 2 bags of milk left and this has made me sad.

It’s not unfamiliar to me. I experienced this same wave of emotions with Davey. At times, I was conflicted. I was eager to get my body back so that I could get back into running (something that was difficult for quite a few months). I was anxious to have those times when my husband could get up with him at night and provide him a bottle. And while I was wishing for all this to occur, I was also hoping to be able to nurse him forever.

Now there’s a finality to seeing the last two bags of frozen milk. Yeah, I can still nurse him, even though it won’t be that much, but there’s no longer that “go to” bag awaiting. Mommy’s usefulness in this arena is slowing fading away and I am sad. I know I’m not the only mother who’s felt this way.