Motherhood is Like Being a Ball Boy

I know the feeling. Don’t you, moms? When you think about it, a good portion of motherhood is much like being a ball boy (or rather, girl.) You have to anticipate needs, offer a remedy, hope it’s the right one, dash away and then do it all over and over again.

Sometimes you get it right. Sometimes, the baby keeps on screaming.

Not that I’m calling Roger Federer a big baby, but if he needs fresh tennis balls and gets a towel instead, he won’t be too happy, much like a baby, or a toddler or any kid would be when they don’t get what they want or need.

Mostly, mother’s intuition helps us out when it comes to figuring out what our children need. For instance, when we hear that cough coming from down the hall at 3 a.m. and know already we’re going to have to call the school nurse, our bosses or clients and the pediatrician because that hacking sound no doubt sounds like bronchitis, and so we’ve got to get our child some antibiotics today.

Sometimes you get it right. Sometimes, the baby keeps on screaming.

Sometimes, however, we get it wrong, like when the baby is crying and we offer a pacifier when she just wants the toy that the dog walked away with when we weren’t looking.

Or when we sign Junior up for T-ball so he can be with his friends, but he spends most games making elaborate roads in the sand for the ants that live near third base.

Or when we put out juice for our kids’ friends when, Oh. My. God. Mom! Juice? What do you think we are? First graders?

And then we feel dumb. Or worse, we feel inadequate, as though we’re supposed to anticipate and then come through with the exact right thing every moment of our kids’ lives.

But that is impossible. I mean, what do ball boys and girls have to anticipate and provide? Here’s the complete list:

• towel
• ball
• water

Here, however, is what moms need to anticipate and provide (a partial list):

• fresh diaper
• milk or formula
• burping
• pulling over and pushing their heads back up so they don’t cut off their own breathing
• the ability to diagnose cradle cap, colic, croup and other medical situations that don’t necessarily start with the letter “c”
• knowing what to do when that yucky umbilical cord thingy falls off
• anticipating when they’re going to figure out how to let go of the coffee table and attempt to walk, only to fall with a THUD and a WAIL or maybe even STITCHES.
• knowing when “interest in the toilet” is truly potty training readiness and not just “let’s see if this ball fits in the drain.”

And that’s just in the first few years. There’s so much more beyond those years, from determining which preschool fits your, um, “spirited” child to knowing that your teen just looked you straight in the eyes and outright lied about how that fresh ding got onto your car door.

If we hold up the proverbial towel and it’s the wrong thing, I say big deal. We may have eyes in the backs of our heads, but we can’t see everything all the time. We can just try our best to anticipate what we can, and then dash off again to do it over and over again.