So yesterday (sunday) was the first football scrimmage for #2 and #3. It is always a long day but normally the time flies. Lots of gabbing with friends and Courtney and I just being dorks in general.
Lets start with 4 a.m. Sunady morning #2 woke me up (I couldnt fall asleep until 3), he says he didnt feel good. A question or two later I called bullshit and sent him to bed. Wake up at 6 a.m. tp get ready and on the road by 8 a.m. for an 11 a.m. game. #2 eats, showers and goof off. Typical morning. No complaints yet... I drop #2 and 3 off to the coach and find a place to park. I am herding #1 and 4 out of the cae and my phone rings. Sure enough #2 threw up, directly in front of the food vendor. Score I am off clean up duty since I was nowhere near the crime scene. I take #2 into the stands with me and he is great. My dad came a bit after us because I was a damn mess having to go to my first game without Courtney. A couple hours later #2 must eat, grandpa gets him chili fucking cheese fries. About an hour after that they re-emerge in the bleachers while we are surrounded. Perfect. I clean them up and clean him up and proceed to freak the fuck out. I am trying so hard to not let anyone see. So now I have the whispers that follow me all practice or game long about being the girl whose husband died but now I have the added bonus of being the girl whose kid puked all over.
I am done. I have tried so hard to fill his role and to fill my own. I cant do it anymore. I am not good enough. If this is to be my life then I dont think I can do it. I can no longer hold my head up. I feel so hollow, all I needed was for him to be there and smile and laugh. Even though I know he would have just pointed and then walked away it still would have been okay. All I needed was after the game for him to hug me and kiss me and say "I love you babe"