Baseball season is a very important time in the Doyle household. It’s my husband, Matthew’s, favorite sport, therefore something I inherited as part of our marriage.

I recently entered a new season of life myself. I’m a new mom. I don’t feel SUPER new anymore, though. I’ve got a couple of key mom milestones under my belt. Sleepless nights—check. The untimely blowout—check. More calls to the pediatrician’s after-hours hotline than I’d like to admit—doublecheck. But if we look at the statistics, I’m still quite the rookie in the little game I call motherhood.

My son is 6 months old, and I constantly look at him and think to myself, “Wow, I made that.” He’s adorable and hilarious, so smart, and fills our world with a joy I never knew existed. I’ve, without a doubt, never been prouder of any accomplishment in my entire life. He’s truly a home run of a human being.

And I live in constant fear of messing it up.

As many first-time moms do, I spent much of my pregnancy reading any book, blog, and motherhood bible I could get my hands on. I spent nine months training for this moment. I knew there would be inevitable foul balls and strikeouts, but I felt good. I was ready. Number one draft pick material. Then suddenly, you’re pulled up to the big leagues.

This warm, chubby ball of a miracle was a game changer. For whatever reason, he suddenly felt more real in my arms. My love for him overtook every corner of my being, and the motherhood playbook I’d outlined for myself suddenly read like gibberish. Yet, every decision felt like game seven of the World Series.

So how does one handle the weight of not screwing up the most incredible opportunity you’ve ever been afforded the chance to take a swing at?

You take it one day at a time. You cry. You laugh. You worry. You fail. You learn. And slowly, you rewrite that playbook you thought you’d had all figured out … you find ways to cover the bases with help from your team.

My playbook is far from complete. We’re seeing new curveballs every day, and there have been many phone calls at all hours of the day to Coach (aka my mother) for advice. I’m learning to trust that every misstep isn’t earth-shattering, and our little MVP is doing just fine. This little game called motherhood is exciting, fulfilling, and ever-changing. But at the end of every day, win or lose, if you leave it all on the field, you’re doing it right.