Well, it finally happened. I’m screaming (like a nut) for my punk at the football games.
And I’m no longer really scared about my punk playing football either.
I’ve watched him for two games now and he keeps tossing kids aside like ragdolls. (I know, just two games. Silly woman.)
I know he will meet his match sooner or later… and I’m hoping for much later (as in never).
I can even handle seeing him with blood all over his uniform. Yep, doing A-ok.I love seeing my youngest punk run up to his big brother after the game and how much he looks up to him.
And I absolutely love that my punk is having the time of his life.
I think that I’m really enjoying being a football mom. Not that I thought I wouldn’t, but I thought I’d be a ball of nerves every game… and (thank you Lord) I’m not. I’m having fun watching him having fun, and I think that part of being a parent is just about the absolute best.