Sawyer had one of the biggest days of his life Monday. He didn't realize it, of course. He had no way of knowing that, from the moment I saw on the blurry screen that little blob with a teeny pulse, beating away, I would dream of this moment.
Yep, it was Sawyer's first day of T ball. And he LOVED it. I think most parents want their kids to love what they love (unless, possibly, if Mom's true passion is crack and Dad prefers prostitutes). So it filled my heart to see Sawyer enjoying my favorite sport so much. At 3, it's not so much baseball as it is setting 12 cats free in room with catnip air freshner. They ran. And ran. Chased balls. Two kids knocked heads. When Sawyer took his turn at bat, he raced after his ball like it was the last cookie on earth rather than running around the bases.
And all along, Sawyer kept shouting "I'm having so much fun at t ball!"
He didn't care that he was the slowest (and also, I think, the youngest) kid. He wasn't worried about how far he hit the ball, or about his follow through, or whether he touched every (or any!) base.
Watching him I am reminded of what we've lost along the way. The pure joy of it. We get older and competitive and self-doubting. Cynical. We don't remember the love of feeling our body run and leap and bounce. And fly.