That Lyric Little Bandbox

Thirty years ago, when my Mom was pregnant with me, she went to a Red Sox game with my Dad. Not such a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I’ve always enjoyed telling people that I’ve been a Sox fan since I was in utero. I figured that I should give Gummy Bear that same opportunity.

(Now I have to spend the next few years keeping the influences of her Yankee-loving Grandpa and Auntie Allison at bay or it will all have been for naught).

Last Thursday, I went to Fenway with Kristian, my sister Allison, my brother-in-law Dustin, my Mom and my Step-Dad. I guess you could say that I brought Gummy Bear along for the ride. I lured everyone into coming to the game with us with the promise of free hot dogs and sodas, which I could have sworn we were supposed to get with our tickets. Unfortunately, the free food was a lie. Good thing it was such a great night for baseball.

I’ve always wanted to buy one of those “Future Red Sox Fan” maternity shirts and wear it to Fenway. Which, of course, means that there were none to be found anywhere the week before the game. And trust me, I looked. I looked everywhere. I settled for a stretchy shirt in a size bigger than my normal medium and a long tank top underneath for modesty. I was feeling rather proud of myself for fitting into a regular sized shirt. That is, until Allison pointed out that the Sox logo on my shirt had pretty much disappeared into the cavern between my belly and my boobs.

Oh well, I left the adorable stage of pregnancy weeks ago.

The game ended up going fairly quickly, what with the score remaining 0-1 until the very end and most innings ending after three quick outs. Not exactly exciting in terms of offense and not really a classic pitchers’ duel. But as someone who turns into a pumpkin sometime around 10pm most nights, I was vaguely appreciative of the fact that we weren’t there for one of those interminable 17 hour Sox/Yankees battles. I am physically incapable of leaving a baseball game until the very last out.

There were a few moments of excitement to keep us interested (bases loaded, two outs, three balls, two strikes – too bad the Sox couldn’t capitalize). Also, Kristian bought me an ice cream in a plastic baseball helmet. With jimmies.

At the very end of the game, Cody Ross hit a monster three-run walk-off homer. The whole park went crazy.

Sox Win!

This kid had better love baseball.

I don’t know what I love more, the Red Sox winning or my Yankee fan of a sister pouting.

Your tears are exquisite.

Considering the fact that we’re about a million games out of first place, I guess that’s more of a rhetorical question.

Dustin and I pushed our way towards the field so that I could have him take a picture for posterity. A couple of drunk townies exchanged high-fives with me, asked if I’m having a boy or a girl and then said that, either way, we should name our baby Cody. And then they congratulated Dustin on his impending fatherhood. I had to explain that he’s not the daddy, he’s just my brother-in-law.

Aw-kward.

You know what else is awkward? This picture of me.

In my defense, it was waaaay past my bedtime. Also, I really have swelled up like a balloon in this hot weather.

I’m looking forward to taking Gummy Bear to all sorts of sporting events when she’s a little bit older. And, you know, not a fetus. In the meantime, I will most likely be watching all games at home with the AC on and my feet propped up on a stack of pillows.