The post in which you realize your son is a sissy, umm I mean, small for his age

Spring is nearing (think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts) as evidenced by the fact that all the moms are throwing out emails telling each other which sports they are signing their kids up for and to request all neighborhood kids get placed on the same team.

After receiving such an email, I asked Davis which sport, if any he was interested in signing up for.  "Soccer," was his quick reply.

"Okay, but some of your other friends like Nico,Will, and Andrew are doing flag football."

"I don't like football.  It is stupid."

"What?  Why is it stupid?"

"I don't know.  Sometimes we play it a recess, and I don't like it."

"Okay."  At this point, a tiny little mom gene inside of me sighed in relief cause I wouldn't have to worry about a high injury sport (I know, I know, he's a gymnast, isn't that high injury?).  Then, I second guessed myself and wondered if his lack of interest was because he was a--dum, dum, dum-- sissy.  I couldn't control myself, so I asked a follow up question, "What is it about football do you not like?"

"I don't know."

"It's okay.  You can tell me.  Do your friends play tackle football at recess?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I see.  You don't like getting tackled, do you?"

Davis looks down and lowers his voice, "No."

"That's okay.  I don't like getting tackled either.  I don't care if you play football."

Ahhhhh me.  It has been said.  I guess I always knew in my heart I would not be the mom of a running back. It's just I like a great game just as much as the next girl. . . . .