I have to admit.
I am NOT a wrestling fan.
Which is probably why I haven't blogged much about it, but that's beside the point.
This morning we all woke up at FIVE in the morning to get up for the regional meet, which would be Evan's very first meet. (I know. Way to throw you in there, buddy!)
(And, FIVE A.M.?!? I'm still not sure why anyone likes this sport...)
So weigh ins started at 6am, and my teeny little boy went into the big doors where big men snatched your tiny boy away from you and wouldn't let parents beyond, even if you cried and said "but my baaaaayyyybeee! He's too wittle to go all alone in that long line for the first time in life ever!". They didn't care.
So here he is, all alone in that big line to weigh in.
And then he weighed in to his 43lb weight group.
and let me zoom in so you can see the scale...
A pound over! So what? It's a pound, right?
"You need to take him to the bathroom, make him run. He can re-weigh before 7:30 and if it's within a few ounces, we can check other scales to see if he can make it."
(apparently you can't just hop up a weight class once the bracket has been made...or something like that)
So he peed. And went down .4lbs.
.6 to go.
So hubby and Ev ran laps around the stadium...
Eventually he went to run down on the floor, where he wasn't at imminent danger of falling down 2000 feet.
(okay, we all know I overreact. Just go with me)
So when we sent him back at 7:29 to do a final weigh in...
He was still over.
And I was over it too.
We were STARVING and tired, and happy to run off to ihop for a big, .6lb breakfast!
Evan was just fine. He didn't care at all.
Because we saw the kids (and parents!) that didn't make weight and DID care.
I'm crossing my fingers he's done with wrestling.
For pretty much EVER.
But, he's got a daddy that wrestled, and two uncles that wrestled.
So I'm fighting an uphill battle.
Cross your fingers!