Baseball Season

I grew up LOVING baseball. I feel like I have spent a better portion of my life on a ball field of one sort or another. My favorite diamonds are green. And I've probably spent more hours around those beautiful green diamonds than doing anything else in life. Between playing softball, tagging along with my dad while he was umpiring softball, watching one of my three brothers play baseball, or watching or listening to the Twins, summer meant only one thing. And April has been just as highly anticipated as Christmas for one reason: BASEBALL SEASON! (And that's a pretty big deal since my birthday is in April!)

So really, it couldn't be any surprise that I married a baseball player, right? Or that our first date was to a Twins game? Or that once we started dating, I just added his baseball games to squeeze into my summer baseball agenda? Or that one of our shared dreams is to visit every baseball stadium in the country?
 I've been living my dream.

Or have I?

I had no idea how much my husband loves baseball. Everyone else I know has grown out of their obsession with baseball. I have never met anyone else who has played baseball into adulthood. (Except is it any surprise that 2 of my 3 brothers have discovered that they can still play ball, and have re-introduced themselves into the sport? Do we have Tim to thank for

this?) I didn't know amateur men's leagues existed.

But they do! And did you know that their seasons can truly be as long as an MLB season? No joke! Smile if you will, but I am wondering if it's possible for me to join some kind of support network for the wives of pro players who single parent from April through October every year.

So I have found myself in this paradoxical love/hate relationship with baseball. Spring continues to be synonymous with baseball fever, the smell of the freshly cut grass of a ball field, the PING of aluminum on a ball from the Little League park across the street, the countdown to opening day. All things I love, including the fact that Tim gets to continue doing something he loves.

But, I have also discovered this ugly side of myself that has come to dread baseball season. I can't help being envious. I hate when Tim's gone for the better portion of a day or evening to play ball.   I hate putting the kids to bed by myself while he's playing ball.  I hate that Saturdays (usually a family day, right?) are consumed by baseball.  I hate buying contacts that Tim ONLY wears to play ball.  I find myself questioning where the equality is?  When is it my turn?  What's the trade-off for me?

Not a very sacrificial heart, I know.  What can I say?  I'm working on it!