In the course of my life, I allocate approximately one-third to sleep, another third deliberating over dinner ideas, and the final third devoted to supporting my children at their various youth sporting events—soccer, basketball, lacrosse, and football. The countless hours spent on the sidelines provide fertile ground for profound reflections—perhaps even soul-searching. Not to mention, it’s an ideal time to indulge in a pack of Sour Patch Kids; as an adult, where else can one enjoy such a treat without raising eyebrows?
While I genuinely relish witnessing my children’s athletic endeavors—or even just observing from the sidelines when they’re not playing—let’s face it, after attending my 1,038th game of the season, maintaining unwavering focus on the action can be quite the challenge. This might explain why my thoughts often drift to the following:
Why must we always be stationed at the furthest field from the parking area?
I can’t believe I forgot to pack a blanket again. Oh, wait, it’s in the car, but the dog was sick on it. Should I grab it anyway? Eww, no. Only if it gets really cold.
This chair is painfully uncomfortable.
Why do I always choose the broken one? I’ll probably be stuck here forever. I guess I’ll just wait until everyone leaves to attempt to rise. My legs feel like they might be merging with the ground. Just smile; no one will notice.
How old are those players on the opposing team?
They seem enormous. That kid can’t possibly be ten. Does he have facial hair? He looks old enough to drive—and to buy a drink afterward. Haha, I’m hilarious. Maybe I could use a drink. But I don’t even like beer.
I really enjoy this sport.
Do I have cankles? Am I the only person still rocking capris? I really should go shopping; nobody looks good in them. Well, except that mom over there. She probably does pilates or barre.
Is there a bar nearby?
How many minutes did my son actually play? Three? I should consider downloading an app to track playing time. Then again, I never really use apps. Speaking of apps, buffalo chicken dip sounds fantastic right now. Or maybe edamame—no, wait, they’re just trendy lima beans.
Was that a raindrop?
I think I felt something. Please let that be rain.
Wow, that guy is really loud.
What a jerk—oh, wait, that’s my husband. He’s not a jerk; I must just be exhausted.
Is that a bee?
Can I escape this chair? IS THAT A BEE?!
It’s too chilly for spring.
I wish I had that blanket. I need to wash it. I also need to tackle the laundry, unload the dishwasher, clean out the closets, and sort through that mountain of papers on the kitchen table. We need a new kitchen table. Maybe we should just move.
Is that my son out there?
What’s his number again? Why is that other kid always on the field? Oh, right, he’s the coach’s son. He’s not great, but he just scored. Ball hog.
Wow, I definitely missed a spot while shaving, like, my entire left leg. And my right one, too.
Uh-oh, someone is approaching me.
What’s her name? What’shername? Just look straight ahead.
I like her hair.
I despise my hair.
I could have sworn I felt rain.
What’s for dinner?
I loathe cooking dinner. Do we even need to eat?
I need to use the restroom.
That’s a long trek to those bathrooms, which are always disgusting. There’s never any TP or hand towels, and why are there always spiders? I can hold it; I’m stuck in this chair anyway. I can’t feel my legs.
I can’t believe I forgot my fleece/raincoat/hoodie again.
Go blue!
Am I yelling too loudly? That felt pretty loud. I sounded like Rosie O’Donnell or Roseanne Barr.
Is there a bar around here?
What’s my son’s number?
Do I really have to make dinner?
How many times have we had pizza this week? We can probably have pizza again; it’s not so bad. Healthier than fried chicken or crack.
Did my kid just score?
Darn, I missed it. I’ll tell him I saw it. Great job, sweetheart! Oops, don’t say “sweetheart.” Dude? Don’t say dude.
What inning is it?
What quarter? What period? What day is it? That didn’t look like a foul. Is that rain? I think I felt rain. I hope it was rain.
Did we really drive two hours for this matchup?
I’m starting to loathe this sport.
I could go for a bite of that guy’s pretzel—oops, he’s looking at me. Did I say that aloud? Maybe he’s glancing at my cankles.
What’s the score?
I like her sunglasses. They make her look like Tina Fey. They’d probably make me resemble Tina Belcher.
Is that rain?
That was definitely out of bounds. What’s the score again?
She seems friendly—never mind, she’s a screamer.
Is this game nearly over?
Where did I park? Where’s my other child? Where are you now that I need you? Where are you? Where are you now? Great, now I have Justin Bieber stuck in my head.
I could really go for shrimp and linguine.
Wow, that’s random. With a glass of wine…now that sounds enticing. Wasn’t “Look Who’s Talking” a movie? Who starred in it? Bruce Willis. Where are you now, Bruce?
Did I even bring my other child?
Where are you… Get out of my head, Justin. Do I hear thunder?
I should snap some photos.
Darn, memory full! Delete, delete, delete…oh, how cute! Delete, delete. What’s the score?
Overtime? Oh no. Please, no.
I really need to pee. Was that rain?
Please let that be rain.
In summary, the life of a sports mom is filled with both mundane thoughts and moments of chaos as she cheers for her children. From the discomfort of bleachers to the humorous observations about fellow parents and their kids, the inner dialogue reveals the complexities of juggling responsibilities, expectations, and the inevitable distractions that come with the territory. As a reminder, for those exploring avenues like home insemination, resources such as Make a Mom’s at-home insemination kit and this guide on what to expect during your first IUI are excellent references.
Keyphrase: sports mom inner dialogue
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