Fastball to the head

Why is it that when you have a child and they are all tiny and new, all you can do is be amazed by the way they progress?

Look at the way she smiled at me!
Did you see him roll from his back to his tummy?
Woohoo! She's finally crawling!

As they get older you celebrate these little milestones with enthusiasm, pictures, and phone calls to relatives.

He learned how to ride his bike today!
She wrote her name all by herself!
He hit that golf ball square through that top window! Amazing!

If for some reason they are not moving along as you feel they should, or as the other kids are, you worry.

So when do you think she'll get a tooth? She is 8 months.
Is it normal for him to not talk at all?
Will she ever learn how to use the potty?

And it just gets worse as they get older.

Yes, I understand she needs speech therapy.
No, I can't understand what he just said either.
You mean another one needs speech too?!

And you look at their friends and judge how they compare with each other.

She's the best student in her class, and the youngest!
His social skills are not anywhere near the other kids in Sunbeams.
Will he ever catch a ball?

And pretty soon, you're sitting on a chair, out in the cold evening air, clenching your fists because he's up to bat, and he hasn't hit a ball yet, and you really can't even look. Then

BAM!

He gets hit on the helmet with a fastball and falls to the ground. And you jump up and throw your baby to the nearest adult and rush to the fence, ready to take him into your arms and wipe his tears with your shirt.

Only you watch him get up, shake it off, and take his base.

And you realize that he doesn't need his mom anymore to make it better.
And that he doesn't want the other kids to see him cry.
And that he suddenly seems more grown up than you can recall him ever being.