i can't remember when my fear of baseball began.

i played softball as a little girl...on a team called slick chics (yes, really) with pink uniforms and crooked ponytails. wasn't scared then.

i went numerous cardinals games as a kid. don't remember being scared then.

at some point though it became an irrational fear. not a general fear of baseball...but a specific fear of getting hit in the head with a flying baseball. not in my thigh or my arm. just my head. see? it's irrational.

but i believe it. and i defend this fear bc people really do die this way and i'm sure they weren't expecting to get hit in the head with a baseball.

not to mention all the things that happen to me that seemingly only happen to me. the wiffle ball that impaled me while i was innocently running in the park? what if that had been a baseball...and it hit me.in.the.head. in the head. seriously. in the head.

problem though is that brody is already awesome at baseball. just like his dad was. no surprise.

and i'm his pitcher & catcher. you see where this is going?

naturally i've been secretly finding new ways to play baseball. kick the baseball. pitch a soccer ball. use a plastic bat to hit a hard ball.

but he talks. and he tells his dad.

and then i get in trouble.

i need therapy.