After my 7-year-old daughter’s ballet recital wrapped up, she struck a pose—one knee down, the other up—looking elegant until she tumbled into the dancer beside her, who then toppled into the next. It was at that moment I realized my daughter’s aspirations of being a prima ballerina were likely out of reach. Tap dancing? A bust. Hip hop? Let’s just say it was less than graceful. So, I enrolled her in soccer camp, and to my relief, she thrived! She exhibited a delightful mix of talent and self-assurance.
However, when I signed her up for a team that fall, I quickly discovered just how unprepared I was to embrace the role of a soccer mom. I clearly missed the memo on essential soccer mom traits. Here are the seven reasons I’ve come to accept that I’m the worst soccer mom ever.
- The Swarm of Insects
Gnats, mosquitoes, bees—if it flies or crawls, it shows up on the soccer field. Meanwhile, other parents and coaches look on as I leap around, swatting at invisible foes. - Playing the Blame Game
I get it; it’s just a game, but does a teammate really need to kick the ball at my child with such ferocity during practice? This is practice, not an all-out war! His family must be horrified—criminals, I tell you! - Protective Instincts Gone Awry
Watching my daughter get pushed or knocked down is unbearable. Sure, it’s a contact sport (something her ballet lessons definitely lacked), but when the first tackle took her down, my husband had to hold me back from rushing onto the field to seek retribution against the pint-sized assailant. - Lack of Sports Background
My history includes piano, guitar, and theater, but organized sports? Not so much. Early in the season, I mistakenly referred to tryouts as “auditions” and called halftime “intermission.” Though I’ve since learned the correct terminology, I suspect the other moms are still chuckling behind my back. - Socializing? What’s That?
Unlike the endless chats I shared with dance moms while our daughters twirled behind a glass mirror, soccer moms seem to remain in their own little worlds. They sit in their chairs, glued to their phones or the field, while I attempt to engage them in conversation. After a few awkward attempts, I learned to keep my distance. - Distraction Central
That baby racing toward the goal? Yep, she’s mine. And the 6-year-old sulking in her chair, crying “I’m bored!”? Also mine. The heat and humidity at the soccer fields definitely contribute to their crankiness. - Sweat, Sweat, and More Sweat
Between me, my daughter, and the little ones, we’re all drenched! My hair takes on bizarre shapes from sweating. I’ve given up on styling it before Saturday games and now don a baseball cap with my newly acquired soccer-watching attire (which, by the way, no longer includes high heels).
But on a positive note about the sweat: it acts as a great cover for those moments when I see my daughter intently focused on the ball. She is strong, confident, and exactly who she is meant to be. My heart swells, and the tears flow—making all the challenges of being a soccer mom completely worthwhile.
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