Eleven months and one day

Reid celebrated his eleventh month out of the womb yesterday in fine fashion. He's now crawling with ease, lifting himself up onto our ottoman and my torso (when I form a barrier between him and the dog).

With baseball season just getting underway, I'm critiquing his throwing motion every day. At this point, he's ambidextrous, and I'm on a mission to have him utilize this. Scholarship money will start our way in about sixteen years should he continue his progress. For now, he can palm and lift the tennis ball, it's just that he likes to ape Lucy and chew on the nasty felt, rather than have her retrieve it.

As I watch him and see how restless he's becoming when I keep him in my lap to read a story book, I can't help but regret not taking him to his first ball game last summer... when he was immobile. I still think this year will be promising, since he's not all-out running, but get the feeling I'll need to do a lot of roaming the stadium when we do decide the time is right.

I didn't attend my first game until I was six, but I don't have to chauffer my son four hours round-trip like my dad did. Some people don't get the whole baseball fix, and that's fine. To me, baseball is my childhood, summertime, innocence, entertainment, mathematical overload, and trivia fix all stuffed into an uncomfortable plastic seat and glaring solar rays for 2.5-to-4 hours.

I liked all other sports and activities as a kid, but there's just something about baseball that gets me out of bed in the morning. Name one other activity you did as a seven-year-old that you're still doing today. For me, Sunday afternoons are still spent perusing the box scores and the weekly statistical listings... same as way back when. I still get the urge to play catch if I find anyone else wanting to do so. I still get that "internal smile" every time I see the green grass of the outfield and take in the smell of the ball park.

Another great thing about baseball... I've been to hundreds of games in my lifetime and I've still never caught a foul ball. I jammed my finger on a Chris Sabo foul in the third inning of a Cubs game (5/10/1990) and it found a home three rows behind me.  I never gave any thought to it at the time, but 23 years later, I should have a collection by now.

There will be plenty of opportunities to lug my little guy to the stadium this spring/summer/fall. These will be the only days when I can pull off the two-for-one, with his admission being free, as long as he's able to sit on my lap. Keep your fingers crossed that I can perform such a feat!

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