Two years ago this month, I experienced every parent's worst nightmare. My 10-year-old son and I were playing catch when I launched the ball in the air. What happened next is still a blur.

An aptitude test is designed to assess and categorize us by mental ability before institutions will allow us to pursue a higher education or the careers of our choice. Can we all agree that parenting is a career? For example, it's mine. So where's my aptitude test?

When I was a pup of 6 years experience in this world, I made a promise I honestly believed I had the ability to keep. I promised my father that I'd stay 6 forever. Until the end of days, a 6-year-old boy; wide-eyed and pudgy-faced.

I'm worried I leapt too soon. That I don't have all the tools to be the best mother possible. Scared I don't and won't know what I'm doing. Fearful of the unknown. More terrified of the known (studies, statistics, friends' horror stories). I'm worried about giving up my life as I know it.

While June Cleaver of "Leave It To Beaver" may continue to loom large in our Norman Rockwell vision of a family, today's reality is more Liz Lemon from "30 Rock."

For me, spring begins when the air fills with the crack of the bat or the snap of a ball hitting a glove. It begins in February, when baseball spring training gets underway. As a parent, my real joy comes from watching Little Leaguers play. I can't wait to root for my kids on the ball field.

I yearn for those moments. I yearn for lazy Saturday mornings spent lounging in pajamas -- not for my sake (although, it sure would be nice to catch up on some sleep!), but for our sake. We need them. We cherish those moments. And they are far too rare.

As far as parenting journeys go, mine is still in its toddler stages, literally and metaphorically -- three years and counting. However, even in three short years of imperfect parenting, these 10 truths keep coming back to me.

The moment the word "trip" left my mouth, I burst into tears. I had been holding my emotions in all day, trying to stay calm for my daughter. But as I recounted that day's events to the nurse I couldn't do it for a second longer. I tripped, my daughter hit her head and now we're in the ER.

Parents always say they want their kids to be polite. Well-mannered kids are nicer to have at the dinner table when guests come over and they can carry on a polite conversation with a college recruiter or a potential employer down the road. But, like money, manners don't grow on trees.

"Am I in trouble?" my 8-year-old son asked with a sigh when my husband and I surrounded him on the couch one recent afternoon. We assured him no. "There's just something on our minds," I said. "Something important we want to discuss with you."