You guys,
George slammed the back of his head on the hardwood floor. Like, really, really hard. He was sitting on the ground when he got upset and intentionally flung himself backwards towards the rock hard surface. There were tears, wailing, and two very concerned parents.
Later that night Sam sent me links for soft baby helmets.
When I opened the email in front of him the first words out of my mouth were, “Absolutely not.”
An argument ensued. Sam declared I don’t care about our son’s brain development and I triple checked to make sure Sam seriously wanted to put our kid in a helmet. In the house.
After a shower and a breather, I apologized to Sam. Even though I felt like I listened and showed empathy and tried to understand his perspective for most of the conversation, all of it was after my initial refusal and complete shutdown of his idea. Which made him feel like I was never open to having a discussion in the first place.
I suggested we do some Googling about the occurrence of babies slamming their heads into floors (turns out it’s fairly common). And maybe we should call the pediatrician to get his perspective (before we become “those parents”).
In the end, we opted to hold off on the protective headgear.
When it comes to marriage, it’s not about whether one person is right and the other person is wrong. It’s about feeling like a team and feeling heard by your partner. And sometimes all it takes is an apology.
Which is actually immensely hard when you’re as stubborn as I am. But arguing sucks way more than apologizing.
Essay of the Week
George is turning one this month!!
I’m not sure if this is more a celebration of George or the fact that Sam and I have kept him alive for this long. Seriously. Go us! We did it!
Everyone I’ve told about his first birthday has asked the same question: “Are you doing a smash cake?!”
This week’s essay explains exactly why we are not doing a smash cake.
All American
Field hockey preseason started yesterday. As Varsity Head Coach, I put a lot of pressure on myself to do a great job.
Too much pressure.
I agonize over the minute-to-minute details of practice. I worry when a player doesn’t seem like she wants to be there. I plan multiple speeches to have ready “just in case,” as if I’m trying to be Coach Taylor, Coach Boone, or for you younger, hip people, Coach Baker.
It never works. I find myself anxious as I drive to practice and butterflies in my stomach as I’m about to speak.
But yesterday something happened unplanned. The girls completed their conditioning at the beginning of practice. I expected some players to not finish. To drop off. But they finished. For the next drill, though, they were complete mush.
I told them to grab water. I could sense they were feeling down. Maybe a little demoralized. And I remembered a story from my freshman year playing for a D-1 team. I crushed the conditioning at the start of practice but then was dead for the rest of it.
I told the girls about that day. And how hard I pushed myself. And how horrible I felt afterwards. And I told them they should be proud of themselves. And that it was okay to feel the way they were feeling. It was natural.
It wasn’t a Billy Baker moment or anything like that. But it was real and authentic and it came out of me easily.
So maybe I can just let the moments happen instead of trying to force them.
---
Until next week,
Charlie