‘It’s his yoga’ and other things I’m telling myself.

Football season.

I’d be lying if I told you I was excited to see the return of the sweat-drenched shorts and muddy socks in the washing basket.

On the outside I’ve always been (mostly) supportive of Andrew’s love of the game, but on the inside I often cringe when that odd shaped ball means he is not home a couple of nights a week and for most of the day on the weekend.  And then the following day which is usually spent recovering from whatever injury was acquired that week.

Now that we are back into full on renovating mode, the level of stress I’m feeling over the fact that we have only 5 weeks to make this house liveable, is not helping my ability to support his football habit.

Last year I told myself this year would be better.  That taking Eamon to watch games would be much more enjoyable because he would actually ‘get it’. That he would be able to run around with the other kids instead of being a baby I had to try and look after in whatever conditions the usually ill-prepared football grounds threw at me.  I thought it would be closer to what I used to enjoy when we were child-free and I got to sit in the sun with a cold beverage and actually see the game.

The other week proved this was not the case.  I spent the entire night stopping him from trying to climb through holes in the fence to get onto the field (clearly he shares the same love as his Dad!) To make matters worse he had the first accident he has had for months and I’d (stupidly) stopped carrying a change of clothes. So he got around in undies and a jumper whilst I felt like an awesome parent.

After the fifth meltdown I decided it was time for us to go home and that Andrew find a lift.  So it looks like I won’t be enjoying many games this year.

And there lies my dilemma.  How to support something he loves whilst dealing with my resentment over the fact that this is no longer something we can enjoy together.  How to get over the fact that like the shift work and the hours of over-time that this is another thing that takes him away from spending time with us.

It wasn’t until I started comparing his football to my yoga that I started to get it.  How would I feel if he gave me grief over going to a yoga class, or even my teaching yoga?  Admittedly yoga takes up far less time, but really, that’s just details.  He supports me going because he knows when I come back I’m much better to be around.

So this season wheneven I feel the stress rising over yet another day devoted to chasing that odd shaped ball, I will remind myself ‘it’s his yoga’ (and maybe go book another class for myself.)