Cricketer's Wife

My son had his first brush with cricket when he was just two days old. Of course, he won’t remember this.

We were still in the hospital and England were playing India, in England.

The husband and I were wrapping our heads around the new norm (sleep deprivation and being screamed at) and needed something comforting and familiar to soothe our new-parent nerves and keep us awake.

We set up a laptop in the hospital room and streamed the match, with it running in the background through most of the night. It gave us something to focus on when awake and lulled us to sleep when the baby allowed.

Even the midwives admired the calming effect the test match seemed to have on our new, young family. (Notably, we got checked on a lot more during those days. Turns out a few of the midwives were cricket fans too. No complaints from me.)

Now, I know my kid won’t remember this at all. But I like to think it somehow subconsciously lay the foundations for what was to follow.

From the England summer to the Aussie season

Our kid was born in August, so there wasn’t much of a gap between that match in England and when the Australian cricket season started.

Once we were home, settled, and I’d mostly recovered from birth, my husband managed to get a few early season games in. I tried to suggest that the arrival of our little one right before the season started might be a good luck charm for my husband. Quietly, I willed him to knock a 50 in his first match.

It didn’t happen.

As the season wore on, our newborn turned into a baby and the husband’s paternity leave ended. Suddenly, I needed my husband to be around on the weekends so I could take a breather. This meant little to no cricket for a while. (And yes, this did at times cause one or two tense moments but compromise generally won-out.) Although the amount of cricket he played became less, as a family we watched more. And even ventured out to The Gabba.

The 2021-2022 Ashes

That summer was an Ashes summer in Australia. And before our kid was born we’d bought tickets for days 1 and 2 of the opening test at The Gabba. We reasoned the kid would be nearly 4 months by then and we’d have a handle on this parenting lark.

We weren’t completely delusional.

We were finding our way.

But spending the day at the cricket, in the stands with a small human that was still eating nothing but the boob, was ambitious.

Still, we went. And I’m glad we did because I’ll never ever forget the feeling.

In preparation, we’d bought some tiny, baby ear defenders and a broad-brimmed sun hat to protect the kid as much as possible. Push chairs weren’t allowed, so we had to wear (in a baby carrier) or hold him all day. Not a problem. We also bought a little electric fan to try and keep him cool. (So practical.) Annoyingly, it was more humid than hot that day. A muggy, sticky, Brisbane day where you can’t do anything but sweat.

During our walk from the carpark to the ground we got nods and waves from fellow fans. They seemed to commend our parenting decision to introduce the wee one to the great game of cricket so early. (Either that or they thought we were mad.)

Finding our seats, we set up and then I ducked off with the little one to the parent’s room to squeeze in a quick feed so we’d be back in time for the first ball.

My experience of the parent’s room at The Gabba was… Well, I ended up spending a fair bit of time in there and I’ve written up my thoughts here. (Largely because I tried so hard to find out about the parent’s room before going and really struggled to get hold of a recent description of the facilities available.)

Back to our seats for the end of the anthems. Kid sitting on my knee. Noise of the crowd building in anticipation of the first over. Ear defenders on.

Opening ball of The Ashes, Starc to bowl, Burns to face.

You know what happened.

The ground moved, everyone rose to their feet and roared.

Except the mum holding the baby, who didn’t quite register what happened.

I was so thankful I’d put the ear defenders on him.
Then I was so devastated England lost a wicket.
And I was both sad that was my lad’s first encounter of live English cricket, but also wow. It’s one of those moments that will be remembered in Ashes history for years.

I managed to watch the first few overs, with the husband ducking out to settle the kid when he was getting restless. But it soon became apparent the environment was too stimulating. Back to the relative calm of the parent’s room and the hope the child would nap.

But it was hot in there. No air-con, other parents coming and going (and some non-parents), plus a hot, sweaty and increasingly agitated mum.

Sleep didn’t come. And as we approached the lunch break the heat of the summer day set in. The little one was starting to get floppy and wanting to constantly drink/feed. I couldn’t keep up.

We made it to lunch. I think I’d watched a total of 4 overs.

The kid started cracking the shits so the husband made a quick dash to get the car and swing past the ground to pick us up. We were home and in the aircon by the time play resumed after lunch. And we counted our lucky stars we left when we did.

A huge storm rolled in. There was no more play for hours. The thought of trying to get back to the car in that, with a baby and thousands of other fans attempting to leave the ground would have been utter shit.

I didn’t make it to day 2. The kid and I stayed home in the cool while his dad and a cricket-illiterate mate went to enjoy the day’s play. And I was fine with that. Squidge and I watched on TV, snoozed, played, and generally felt relaxed. (Well, as relaxed as an England fan could feel during that series.)

Growing our little cricket fan

My boy is 2 years old now and while we don’t do a huge amount of screen time—we’re more a music or radio on in the background than TV sorta family—he does ask to watch cricket. An enjoyment he’s clearly developed from those early months, when he’d sit on my knee watching highlights, or we’d be on the boundary watching his dad.

As we try and help him understand the game, we’ve taught him basic umpiring signals (out, four, six and wide) and terms, such as boundary, wicket, bowling and “HOWZAT?!”

What he’s watched and heard has helped formed his own version of cricket, which he calls Hits, Run, Tumble! I’m not completely au fait on the rules, but the original version involved him using a plastic skittle (from a 10-pin set we have) to hit a tennis ball, he then runs, but also tries to field the ball after he’s hit it, so he ‘tumbles’ like he sees the fielders do.

More recently, the game has developed where he’ll get either the husband or I to bowl the ball, he hits it, shouts, “SHOT!” or “BOUNDARY!” then runs and will sometimes tumble, but more like he’s diving for the crease trying to avoid a run out.

I’ll update as and when the game evolves again. It won’t be long before he’s big enough to start going with his dad to cricket on the weekends. For the whole day. And we’ll have gone full circle.