Like any parent, I enjoy attending sporting events or matches in which my child is participating. I’m sure you know, have heard, seen or even experienced it yourself that mothers are the biggest cheerleaders for their kids, but for now, they can step aside because I’m in the spotlight.

My excitement and enthusiasm starts a day prior, ensuring that all of her match gear is in good condition and ready to go. At bedtime, I tell her stories of great athletes who rose to fame through dedication and love of their sport. In the morning, while she’s putting on her uniform, I check her knowledge of the sport, reiterate the rules of the game, and give her a pep talk, cautioning her not to be too competitive and to play fairly. Enjoyment is the most important thing; winning or losing is just a byproduct.

As we drive to school, she patiently listens to my ongoing sermon and nods at all the right moments, giving me the confidence that all will be well. The moment she enters the football field, starts her warm up exercises and prepares herself for the match; all hell breaks loose, and I go from being a sane mommy to an insane mommy. I start shouting and cheering at the top of my lungs, distracting the players and the coach, and sharing my expert advice from the sidelines on how to proceed and score the next goal. My competitive spirit overpowers me, and I fail to practice what I preached to her a while ago. I end up completely embarrassing her and myself.

Luckily, these matches are only 30 minutes long, and at the end, I feel exhausted as if I ran a mile-long marathon. On days when her team wins, we celebrate by singing and playing her favorite songs on the drive home. On days when the team doesn’t perform well, I narrate missed opportunities to score goals, but I also give her a pep talk, like a good mom would.

Like always, I promise her that I won’t get crazy or too excited for the next game and maintain my cool, like other moms and dads do. Unfortunately, I forget all of it the moment she starts playing, so to save my last shred of dignity, I haven’t attended the last two matches and asked my dear hubby to accompany her instead. But this has its downside too: missing out on the special moments of joy seeing the little champ in action, her skill and aggression on the field. With only two matches left in the league, I intend to attend them, determined to maintain ladylike grace and composure.

Do you think I can pull it off?