My oldest son had recently taken an interest in baseball. Perhaps I should clarify. He loved all sports and had always loved all sports, but he was now actually interested in watching sports. Lately he would ask if the Cubs were playing that day. One night, he even opted to sit in my room and watch the game while his brother and I took in some Curious George. I was surprised that at 3 years old he could genuinely be interested in watching sports on TV, but then again, this wasn't the first time my child had surprised me. He began asking for baseball quite regularly. One morning, in fact, I put ESPN on for him, just to appease. How frightening it was that SportsCenter was already ruling the airways in our house, but so I digress. One night my son was watching the Cubs and asked if we could go to a game one day? He wanted to go to a REAL game. Like at the REAL park. Not just like on the TV. The REAL baseball game. Now technically he had already been to Wrigley. My Ex and I had taken him to his first Cubs game right around when he turned 1. But that didn't really count because he didn't remember that. I promised him that I would take him to a game this summer. It was just a week or two later, I was talking to a friend at work about how I needed to take my oldest to a game this summer and he suggested we go this weekend. He would come along with his son. This was perfect! My son would enjoy having another boy (an older boy, too!) around and I could enjoy a beer at the game without looking like a degenerate mom. Win win. I also now had a new thing to barter (threaten) with my son about for the rest of the week. (Not that is was my goal to hang something over his head, but technically I considered that another win.) I had a sitter lined up for my youngest so we were all set. I went to the store and picked up a Cubs t-shirt in just the right size and pulled it out of my purse as I shared the news of the game. He was excited. Very very excited. I loved this moment. The excitement got my boys going which made bed time a bit more challenging. I did everything I could to temper this (come on, I had started it afterall) but nothing could simmer the energy my oldest felt. I finally (FINALLY) got my youngest in bed and was trying to get my oldest to settle when the sweetest moment occurred. He looked at his Cubs t-shirt once again and then turned his attention to me. He thanked me for the shirt and then he said it.
You're a good mama.
Yes. He said those exact words. My heart melted in that moment and I almost could have cried. It was the simplest yet sweetest gift he could have given me. You're a good mama. I was being recognized by my 3 year old. My role as a mom was being acknowledged and valued by a 3 year old. What more could I ask for?
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