Andy and I remarked to each other after the soccer parent meeting that we still sometimes feel like imposters. Like someone was going to come up to us and say, “I’m sorry, you don’t belong here.” I think there are parts of us that will always have a hard time believing Henry and Eleanor are real, that they actually happened.
During our four years of waiting for a family, the one dad-type activity Andy consistently talked about was his wish to be a coach. That’s why last night’s very first soccer practice was so special.
Sure, it was just a bunch of three- and four-year-olds running amok for an hour. But for me? It was not believing my luck in seeing my two healthy children proudly wear their soccer cleats, while their father realizes a goal (oooh, soccer pun) eight years in the making.
I know the minivan-driving soccer mom is such a cliché. But I’ve known the alternative, so it’s a badge I happily wear with pride.