Last fall you moved up to 7 - 8 baseball. In 7 - 8 baseball, you have a kid catcher and a kid pitcher. As you soon as you heard that kids could be catchers - you wanted to be catcher!
You envisioned being the next Brian McCann.
I think you look so cute in all your catcher's gear - so grown.
There is very little of you that I can see when you have all that gear on, but I love it! I sit right behind home plate in every game - so I can have the best view of you.
When you first started playing catcher, you wanted to pop up and throw that catcher's helmet off every time a ball was hit. Sweet Daddy and I convinced you that, for now, you need to keep that helmet on. At 7 to 8, kids are often a tad crazy with the bat or with their throws.
For you see, sweet Bubbe, I'm just a tad attached to that sweet head of yours.
I can remember the day you were born - all 9 pounds 9 ounces of you. I can remember Dr. Lowman delivering your head and hearing you cry. I can remember asking "do we have a boy or a girl?" and her answering "we're not sure yet." For you, my sweet son, were a big baby.
In delivering your shoulders, and thus the rest of you, you broke your collarbone. You were were that big!
Still pushing the 100th percentile each time I take you to the doctor, I'm reminded - you were never small for your age. Even as a newborn.
So, sweet Bubbe, for me, and for you, always wear a helmet.
Biking helmets. Batting helmets. Catcher's helmet.
All good stuff.