The Girliest of Girls Tries Softball

My daughter, G, is the ultimate girly girl.  She loves to dance and sing and paint her nails and become hysterical when things don't go her way.  She loves sparkly flip flops and high heels.  She hates sneakers (unless they are sparkly and bejeweled).  She won't wear anything that looks too boyish.  She hates short hair and nearly banned a friend from her birthday party because of it.  She's all about hair bows and pink tails (that's pigtails to us common folk), tiaras and boas, purses and cell phones, and all things princess.  Pink and purple are her favorite colors, for goodness sakes!  (Wait...those are also two of my son's favorite colors.  Hmmm...)  Get the picture?  The G in her name doesn't just stand for Georgia.

Back before her birthday, she started telling everyone that she was playing softball.  Considering I've never, EVER mentioned softball to her before, I was taken aback.  Mind you, I, too, was the girliest of girls so softball has never been on my Bucket List.  There's a possibility that my husband and son talked about baseball in front of her.  But no on in our house discussed softball at any time.  Period.

As time went by, I'd figure she'd forget about it and move on to something else.  No such luck.  When my husband signed my son up for baseball, she got upset that he didn't sign her up for softball too.  She was still determined to play.  She's freakin' FOUR!  A big waste of time and money, in my opinion, but my husband is her very own personal "assistant."  He does as he is told for fear of facing her wrath.  She is so soft and sweet and pink on the exterior, but tough as nails on the interior.  She makes a grown man cower.

Thursday night, was her very first softball practice.  After her dance lessons, I changed her clothes and took her to the softball field for practice.  She refused to let me put her cleats on, though.  Instead, she wanted to go to practice in her sparkly gold princess flip flops.  Whatever...just get in the van!  That was only the first sign of what was to come.

Since it rained all day, the field resembled a small lake.  Our girls were sharing the field with another team who'd already begun practicing in the infield.  Our girls would have to practice in the outfield.  It didn't bother the coaches or the other girls.  They developed a little system with some working on their throw, others were batting, and a few were trying to catch the ball.

G was a little late because dance ended at the same time practice started.  I had to walk her out to the swamp outfield in sparkly princess shoes.  She started screaming because mud was all over her feet.  Hell, I was bitching too because I don't enjoy mud either.  There we were, two of the girliest of girls, wading through the wetlands in our pretty shoes.  Being a sweet mommy, I took one for the team.  I carried her out to the practice area and cleaned off her feet.

I put on her cleats.  She was okay with taking off the princess shoes since she was sure everyone had seen them.  I refused to follow the same path back to the bleechers, though.  My son was playing along the back fence line any way.  I just climbed over the fence which deserves a showing on America's Funniest Home Videos all by itself.  I'm too old for that shit!  G started crying.  She wanted to be on the other side of the fence with me and her brother.

Her daddy, who is now fully dedicated to the softball fiasco and a one of her coaches, put her over the fence and told me to take her home.  This only made her cry more.  And when she saw a teammate wearing her new pink, bejeweled (I couldn't help myself; it's so cute) batting helmet, she went into hysterics.  It was time to go.  When I told her, though, that little heifer ran from me!  I didn't want to run after her because: 1.) I look ridiculous running, and 2.) I was afraid I'd not catch her (she's fast as lightning!).  Instead, I threatened to beat her walked away.  Being a former drama queen myself, I knew that her tantrum would be less effective without an audience.

She finally calmed down and agreed to practice.  She would go with the group who was catching balls.  She got in line with the others and waited her turn.  Thank God!  Just as I began to rejoice in God's miracles, she had another meltdown.  She got mud on her cleats!  Great!  This is going to be the longest season in softball history.  I tried to explain to her that softball is a dirty sport.  If she wanted to be a big girl and play, she had to quit crying.  I assured her that I would clean her cleats when we got home.

After more crying and dilly-dallying, she goes back to practice.  This time, she would be with her daddy at batting practice.  She was happy.  She got to wear her very pretty helmet and swing her pretty pink bat.  To my surprise, she actually hit the ball a few times.  Though I know NOTHING about softball, I've watched enough baseball to know that she had a pretty good stance too.

See, that's the thing about G.  She really is good at anything she tries.  She is agile and fast with excellent coordination.  When she practiced with her brother's soccer team last spring, she played better than most of the other kids.  With her princess flip flops on!  At 3 years old!  But when her dad put her on the team, she refused to play.  She sat in my lap and cheered on the others.  I'm not worried about her, though.  Like I said, she will be awesome at anything she chooses to do.  That's just how she rolls.