Uplifting and comical…a look at my life, motherhood and the circus that goes with it


Mine…I mean my daughter’s first gymnastics meet is this Sunday. I may throw up 18 times this week thinking about it. It may as well be my meet…that’s how nervous I am about it. She? Well she could give two shits. I mean she is excited, but she is more worried about dancing around in her room in front of the mirror and having her make-believe friends enjoy the show. She amazes me. How the hell is she this calm about it? I don’t get it. What if I mess up…I mean she..she…what if she messes up? Will she cry? I’ll cry. I’ll be heart broken. How can it go on after a fall? What if there are a lot of falls…like falls off of every event? How can the day go on? (Fade to black)

This is the saga that is developing in my mind every day until Sunday. It started…oh…well… it started about since the time she was four, but has slowly progressed into this psychotic paranoia hell of worry. My rational mind tells me to shut up on a repeated basis. I know that I am overreacting, but my heart bitch slaps my brain and says that this could be the beginning or the end.

Let’s not even forget about the pure and simple fact that being in the audience watching something other than a softball game or a cheer event is something new to me. I cannot yell. Someone told me, oh you can yell. (No I Cannot yell…you have no idea what my yelling is all about.)They think that shouting “Go (insert child’s name)!” is yelling. No boy…that is not yelling. Shrieking and shaking uncontrollably until my face turns blue screaming childand 18 people turn around to stare at me, embarrassed for me is yelling…and I cannot do that Sunday. Well I guess I could, but I could also get kicked out I suppose.

Regardless of a potential first ever ejection from a level 4 gymnastics meet, I know everything will be ok, I do. But…but…if it isn’t…well nothing. That’s just it…nothing is going to happen. She may come home with no medals, or many medals, but she is still the same person who likes to dance around in her underwear in front of the mirror. Her experience may be different, but she is not different. She is who she is and will probably always pick her nose and eat it (hope that doesn’t happen Sunday while saluting a judge). I know that we will be able to go onto the next day I’m sure argueing over why in god’s name would I put pepper on her scrambled eggs. (I miss those worries in life).

But, it still scares the shit out of me. That’s never going to change…and as this insanity goes on in my mind knowing that It’s not my meet, I will still be a wreck over it. Why? Well because she is my daughter, and I love her to the moon and back. I want her to succeed for herself. It’s not about the reflection of who I have produced or the countless hours that I have driven her back and forth from that place…the money we’ve spent or the loss of time we have spent together, it’s about that this sport…this sport of gymnastics is what makes her happy. It has molded her into the individual that she is at only seven- years- old. She will climb a rope to the ceiling without using legsrope climb…with a  double ear infection and a cough that requires steroids, not because I forced her to go but because she feels like that is where she belongs. I want her to always feel as though she belongs. I want her to know that if she does not succeed on Sunday, that she will still belong because she is a fighter, a relentless individual who goes to work there four times a week and busts her ass because that is who she is. I want her to be proud of herself as I am proud of her as my daughter, as a gymnast and as a human being. She; however, may not be able to say the same after witnesses react to an “unruly audience member”.  (winky face)


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