"I think I love baseball," I said out loud to myself.
It was the first scrimmage of the season. I was walking up to the baseball diamond, watching my husband and all of the little players (and some not-so-little players) dressed in red, warming up all around him.
I thought, "Look at them all, lined up in a row to practice throwing and catching, pitching and hitting. It's kind of cute, the whole little army of them. And nobody will even try to tackle anybody today. It feels so promising. It almost seems like nobody could get hurt."
All of that ran through my head. Serious thoughts.
And then Tyler ran over to me to say, "Tuck just got hit in the face with a ball."
Of course. Of course that happened.
So, I missed the first scrimmage, and so did Tuck. Instead, we spent the afternoon in our favorite Emergency Room. (When you've tried every single variety of something, you're entitled to choose a favorite.)
They ran all their tests, including brain teasers and a CT scan. No fractures, breaks, concussions, or bleeding behind his eyeball. He's okay. Just a heck of a shiner and some serious street cred.
* * *
"Mom, do you think I should make up a good story for this black eye?"
"Dude, I think taking a baseball to the face is a pretty legit story on its own."
* * *
Peter: "Trish, I'm so sorry that happened on my watch. I don't know what I could have done to prevent it."
Tricia: "Honey, you couldn't have done anything. This is how it goes, every six to eight months. Welcome to raising Tuck."
* * *
New Family Game: Who can name all of Tucker's injuries, hospital visits, and trips to the ER without missing one? (I no longer have a running list in my head.)
It started on this day:
And here we are today.
Boy-Momming no joke.
