Luckily, the weeks of spring training fly by. Madison and Liberty visit me on day number 11 of training. During their three-day visit, I spend every free moment exploring Mesa and holding them in my arms. Our little girl enjoys the swimming pool and warm weather. When we say our goodbyes, Madison promises she’ll try to visit again during my final 30 days of training.
I miss our March obstetrics appointment. Madison records the visit, and I find it attached to an email when I’m done with practice. She was right; I didn’t miss anything major.
A couple of days later, I struggle to focus on my pitching. It’s Liberty’s second birthday, and I want to be home with her. Talking to her on FaceTime tonight won’t be enough.
“Armstrong,” Stan calls to me from the practice field.
From the mound in the bullpen, I glance at my friend. He’s pointing. I follow his hand to a section of the stands. I squint, my ball glove shading the sun at my forehead. It can’t be. I blink as I attempt to process the vision before me.
In Madison’s arms, Liberty waves. I glance over my shoulder to my pitching coach, wondering what I should do.
“Ten minutes then back here focused,” he utters sternly.
I jog toward my family. My heart swells, and my arms crave to hold them. Liberty practically leaps from Madison’s arms to mine on the field below.
“Sup-pize, Daddy,” she squeals, wiggling fiercely.
My words stick in my throat. I squeeze Liberty, kissing her cheek to convey my excitement to see her.
“I hope we didn’t interrupt your workout,” Madison says, concerned. “I planned to observe from these seats until practice was over today.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t focusing. I definitely needed a break to get my mind on throwing. Coach gave me 10 minutes.”
Searching for field access, I motion for Madison to walk with me. I open a small door, and Madison steps down to the field beside me.
“Come to the bullpen with me,” I instruct, placing a quick kiss to her temple.
I don’t have to ask why they’re here. I’m ecstatic they surprised me for Liberty’s birthday. I don’t have a gift for my girl, but we can take a shopping trip tonight. My thoughts settle, and Coach is pleased with my work out as the girls observe, mere feet away.
Madison
With writing my next story and two trips to Arizona to visit Hamilton, spring training passes quickly. Each evening, we video call. We share events from our days and plans for the next. We read pages from our book, and occasionally, Hamilton asks me to place the phone on my belly. He read about the baby’s ability to hear sounds from outside the womb, and now he talks to our little one.
With spring training over, I’m excited for the new season. I prop myself up on three pillows at the headboard of my double bed. Watching Delta unpack, placing her items all over the hotel room, is both entertaining and exhausting. I decide to take this moment to check in at home.
Me: we’re in St. Louis
Me: what’s up
Fallon: @ tumbling
Fallon: she says it’s a pj party 2night
Fallon: sad my pjs are sweatpants
Me: u should borrow mine
Me: drawer 3 in tall dresser
Fallon: might take u up on that
Me: have fun. we’re sightseeing
I love that Liberty feels comfortable enough for Fallon to stay with her while I travel. I wonder if she’ll even miss me. I already miss my little girl. As much as I needed some girls’ time, she would love traveling to an away game.
“Let’s go,” Delta orders. “We’re burning daylight. If we plan to come rest before tonight’s game, we need to get sightseeing now.” She stands near the door, oversized purse on her shoulder and hands on her hips. I slide from the bed, slip my shoes on, and follow her out the door.
In the next four hours, we visit the Anheuser Busch St. Louis Brewery, the Gateway Arch, and Grant’s Farm. While I’ve been here before, I’ve never been to the top of the arch or visited the Clydesdales. We enjoy observing the five-month-old colts interact with their enormous mothers. With our early flight this morning and sightseeing, I’m beat when we return to the hotel room.
After an hour nap, Delta and I dress in our Cubs gear then call an Uber to deliver us to Busch Stadium. She loves teasing me about cheering for the Cubs now instead of the Cardinals. An usher delivers us to our seats in the section with other player’s wives, girlfriends, and family members that traveled for opening day.
Immediately, murmurs begin amongst the women.
Turning to Delta, I don’t lower my voice. “Told you my t-shirt was too snug.”
“Let them gossip.” Delta flicks her hand at the wrist while she speaks. “A couple of them won’t even be around by this year’s All-Star Break.”
“You are so bad,” I scoff. “Can you make out what they are saying?” Curiosity gets the best of me.
“Something about how quick you got pregnant to tie yourself to Hamilton,” Delta states. She doesn’t hide our conversation. In fact, I believe she wants them to listen to us. “How dumb can they be? The two of you are married, unlike them. You already have a daughter together, so you don’t need another baby if you want to tie yourself to him,” Delta rants. “They just don’t know what true love is. Not everyone is out to snag a man for his money. Some of us loved the man way before money entered the picture. That’s why we’ll be here for years, and they are temporary.”
This is why I love her so much. No one gets anything over on her or her friends. Delta’s lady balls are bigger than mine, and, at times like this, I’m grateful they are. The murmurs hush around us, and we focus on the field.
We watch a local 12-year-old sing the national anthem then locals throw out the first pitch. I’m glad we planned to arrive only a few minutes before game time. I’m nervous; I’m always excitedly nervous before the first pitch. My nerves continue to rise as the Cubs bat in the top of the first. In the bottom of the inning, I watch Hamilton warm up on the mound. I break down his every movement, during the wind up and as the ball crosses the plate. He looks ready.
As the first batter enters the batters’ box, I grip the thin arms of my seat while I hold my breath. Delta pats my forearm in support when Hamilton comes on the mound. He nods at the catcher’s sign, winds up, and sends the ball toward home. It wizzes by the batter and pops loudly in the catcher’s mitt. The umpire signals while yelling strike. I note on the video board that Hamilton’s fastball clocked at 100 miles per hour. That’s a great way for him to start his fourth season in the Majors.
“You can breathe now,” Delta reminds me.
My shoulders relax and my arms fall into my lap as I breathe in the excitement of the ballpark. I settle back into my seat and cheer for the Cubs. Between innings, Delta snaps a selfie of the two of us in our Cubs shirts. As I look at her photo, I note our hair blows wildly in the spring breeze. She shares the photo with me, and I text it to Fallon for Liberty.
When we make it back to the room following the game and a late dinner, I crawl into my bed before removing my shoes. I’m glad we planned our girls’ trip for the first game of the season. While I enjoyed our trip, I wouldn’t want to travel to every away game. I’m not sure how Hamilton does it.