Realize that you’ve never actually helped your son put on his baseball uniform about twenty minutes before the game. Dad always does that. But Dad is away on business, and you now have to figure out how to pull up tight knee high socks on a kid who isn’t wildly fond of socks to being with and then somehow wiggle him into baseball pants that are possibly a size too small, but he says they feel “fine.”
Get to the game five minutes before it starts, which is cutting it a bit close. Drop your son off into the field and go sit in the stands. Play a game on your phone while he plays catch with two older boys, knowing that at least one person is silently judging you for not spending every second watching your son play when, in reality, you just want a quick break while he seems completely content.
Listen to your son scream “Enough!” multiple times and not know when enough is literally enough and you should step in to try to stop him instead of letting other people try to handle it. Because, it turns out, while playing catch was cool, now that it’s time for the actual game to start, he has discovered that Dad isn’t there, and what was cool is now meltdown city.
Try to figure out if you made a mistake by going over to him to try to calm him down when it seems to make him repeat “Dad will be home soon” more. Reassure him until you feel like the only words you know how to say anymore are, “Yes, Dad will be home tomorrow morning,” and then tell him that you will be waiting in the stands and watching him. Wait for him to agree, then go back to the stands and sit on the edge of the bench, hoping that you don’t need to run back out to calm him down again.
Wonder why people are cheering as your son has a meltdown on the ball field. Yes, you know that they are trying to make him happy, but cheering when he cries tends to have the opposite effect. He will probably believe they are cheering on his crying, and therefore he will cry more because he has a receptive audience. Consider telling them to shut up, but know they are only trying to help, and instead get up and try to talk to him through the fence, even though you also wonder if they will continue to judge you for saying, “Simon, no!” as he keeps doing the sign language for Dad, followed by hitting himself in the head (well, helmet, technically) while both coaches try to get him to bat.
Let him get to first base after hitting the ball, and then go get him because he is refusing to move to second base and instead cries for Dad to be there.
Forget to pick up your son’s baseball pictures because he is yelling and crying and you only want to get him into the car and go to Starbucks to hope that the coffee helps you calm down (because it won’t help him calm down, but it’ll definitely calm you down).
When your son says, “I want a banana,” say, “Of course! Everyone knows that bananas make everything better!” (Okay, maybe that’s not actually being the worst mother…but it’s totally lying.)
Settle onto the couch with him, under his awesome weighted blanket, and read a book with him until he’s finally hit the level of calm that will make him happy.
Then get him lunch and write a blog about how horrible a mother you are.