Today is Jacob’s first day of teeball. He’s never played before. His friend Ryan (the two of them get into trouble in the bathroom at school a lot, apparently) is on the team with him, and Ryan’s dad is the coach. These are both good things, I think.

We made a trip to the store Wednesday night to purchase the requisite items: baseball pants, a glove and a cup. Really, I think the cup isn’t my job – I’m the mom, for goodness’ sake. I can do first periods and first bras for girls, or fretting over the safety and girlfriend choices for boys. But cups? Ugh. I didn’t even understand how they worked. I had to get a primer from my dad. Which was not at all uncomfortable. Yeah.

This morning, I woke at 3:36 a.m. to a light tapping on my shoulder. I think I was dreaming about birds, and as I woke up I mumbled something about getting more birdseed – I was convinced there was a bird trying to peck my shoulder. Then I opened my eyes and saw Jacob, standing next to my bed with his finger outstretched, clutching his small stuffed tiger. After a brief exchange to determine that Jacob had not wet the bed accidentally, I took him back to his room. As I was tucking him in again and assuring him that it would be time to get up in a few hours, he turned to look at me with big, big eyes. I asked what was wrong.

He said, “I’m just so excited for teeball.”

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