We sat behind the bench of his first ever baseball game. I watched my oldest son as if their was a massive expanse between us. He was meticulous. He made sure his stuff (hat, waterbottle, batting gloves) always stayed together on the bench. He counted the players sitting on either side of him to make sure he was in the right place for batting order. And eventually, he decided to look like a pro, and tuck his batting gloves in his back pocket, hanging out a bit. I saw a little man sitting there. His teen years flashed before me, and I thought about how he would be perfect as an Aggie Cadet...everything had it's place, and he sat attentively in his. Suddenly, a gush of sentimentalism rushed over me, and I felt a strongly taut apron string thinning between us.
When the coach came and told him he needed to gear up to catch, he quickly grabbed the pads and struggled with strapping them on. I so wanted to jump up and walk the couple of feet around the bench to help him. But I resisted. I knew he wouldn't want me there, he's already become self-conscience when I am around his peers. And I knew that he needed to have the experience to learn from, without Mommy coddling him. His coach ended up helping. It's going to be harder than I thought to watch my baby grow up, my instinct to mother my first born is so strong.
I was glad to see him look for us when we moved spots to get better shots of his turn to bat (since he's a leftie batter). He still wanted us there, just at a distance. At the game's conclusion, I was so proud of his effort, and look forward to seeing him grow this baseball season...just not too much! :)