No Crying…Part Deux.

“Rogers Hornsby was my manager, and he called me a talking pile of pigshit. And that was when my parents drove all the way down from Michigan to see me play the game. And did I cry?“ That quote really has nothing to do with this post, but it reminds me of when I was in little league and one of us would get hurt or screw up, our coach would just state, in the most incredibly unsympathetic way, “toughin’ up!” (And I screwed up a lot.) I’ve never really been one for “toughening up,” per se. I’ve always been an emotional pain in the ass… Just ask anyone that knows me from when I was a child. And, if you read into that psychology crap, it’s probably due to the fact that I was R ... Read the full post.

Crying? Are you crying? There’s no crying in baseball.

I think a mother can be in a room with 100 other mothers and babies, and instinctually know when it’s her child that’s crying. Your baby’s cry is as unique as his fingerprints. And, as a mom, the sound seems to trigger an automatic, nurturing response — like Pavlov’s dogs, except substitute the bell with the crying, and instead of a dog salivating, you have boobs that leak breast milk. I’ve said it before, that we’ve been really lucky that Charlie doesn’t seem to be much of a crier. But of course, like all babies, he does cry. (Especially between 5 and 8pm. Or when he’s not feeling well, aka, tonight.) Most of the time though, we can tell right away what it is. Hungry, he turns his head ... Read the full post.