High Heeled Mama has a confession to make. I wear socks with my heels. Well, not really. But I am a die-hard Red Sox fan (hopefully that won’t turn any of you away). So it was with great anticipation that we took peanut to his first Red Sox game (thank you interleague play).
Considering the game started at 7pm, which is normally peanut’s bath time and therefore the start of the slippery slope to bedtime, peanut did very well. We have quite the observant peanut. He’ll typically watch and assess any given situation before deciding whether to participate. Last night was no different, but he adjusted quickly and soon began flirting with just about anyone in a three row radius.
It has been to my great consternation that peanut is not clapping yet. He is a happy baby who shows his excitement in many other ways. He crawls, he laughs, he is certainly an “on-track” baby, but he just isn’t into clapping. No big deal, right? True. But for some reason, a clapping baby is just so adorable. No matter how hard I try or how many rounds of patty-cake we play, peanut has not been interested in slapping his hands together. Until last night…
Down six in the top of the eighth, the Sox brought in David Ortiz (more fondly known as Big Papi) to pinch hit. The crowd, which was probably half Sox fans, went crazy. Flash bulbs popping and lots of cheering. I was clapping with my own excitement when I turned to see peanut clapping away in hubby’s lap!
At the time I wasn’t sure if I was more excited that he clapped or the fact that he clapped for the Sox which just might confirm that you’re born being a Sox fan, that it runs in your blood, that each victory and defeat is genetically passed from generation to generation.
Hard to say. But it was a moment I’ll cherish and always remember. Even if the Sox lost the game.