So lately, Guy has been expanding his body-parts and medical vocabulary. He asked me, "What's this part of my chest called?" and we added sternum, diaphragm, and clavicle to his pre-K list of spelling words.
What better way to emphasize that new language than to really put it to use? I've been playing catch with Guy and his new baseball glove each afternoon this week. Since he finally writes left-handed (after more than 3 years of wishy washy ambidexterity) we assumed he would throw left handed as well and presented a nice new right-handed mitt on his birthday. Much to my chagrin, he loves to pull the mitt off and use his right hand to pitch.
I told him, "Honey, for the twenty-five bucks I spent, you're gonna be a left-handed pitcher." No matter. He throws fine with either hand. I'll let his high school coach work it out.
And as to catching... gosh, it makes me VERY nervous to huck a hard and speeding object at my little child. I really don't have much faith that he's going to catch it! I'm always sure it will hit him right on the nose. Septum, even.
The bad news is that the EASIEST type of throw for him to catch is a long steady pitch aimed directly at his chest. Any pitches aimed just to his left or right go haywire, and usually tip off the end of his phalange-filled-glove and off into space.
Sigh. So, I've resorted to throwing the ball nice and steady at his MITT, ignoring the nearby cutie-patootie eyes (blue irises), button-nose (perfect cartilage), and not-even-loose primary-teeth smile.
THUNK! That was the sound of my steady shot whumping him on the chest. I knew this was going to happen!! Is this the price every child pays to learn the most fundamental of American skills?
"Ooogh, Mom," he moans. "You got me right in the sternum." Thank goodness it was only a squishy tee-ball.
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