Now that I have children, I think about them every moment. That hit me Sunday night when I watched my Baltimore Ravens lose to the Pittsburgh Steelers in the chilly stands of Heinz Field.
I never expected to do many spontaneous things once I had kids. It's hard to even get to the movies, let alone run off anywhere out of the blue. There are diapers to change, bottles to prepare, clothing to layer, carseats to adjust and toys to pack "just in case."
But when my home team made it to the AFC Championship game, I saw the opportunity to get away for the night. Luckily, a friend of mine was willing to splurge on some tickets and make the four-hour drive through the snow with me.
After tracking down two good seats and a seller who needed to make a deal, I loaded up the kids in the minivan and headed to a not-so-nearby McDonald's parking lot to make the exchange.
As soon as my seemingly trustworthy dealer handed me two tickets printed out from her computer, I worried that I was being duped and we'd arrive at the stadium only to be turned away.
But I was on a mission to prove to myself that I could be spontaneous and take a little road trip without two Pack 'n' Plays. I had to have faith that it would all work out, or I'd never go.
After dropping off the kids at their grandparents for the night, I began to plan my purple outfit of many layers for the single-digit temperatures I kept hearing about.
"You're going to freeze," everyone told me. "You're crazy to go up there."
What was crazy was not the temperatures, but subjecting myself to being odd-woman-out in a stadium of Steelers fans.
"You better not get into a fight," they warned. I am not a fighter so I assumed I'd just keep to myself. "Wear some body armor."
As soon as Kristin and I stepped out of the cab that took us to the stadium, we found ourselves in a sea of black and yellow. We could have tried to mix in, but I was proud to wear my flashiest Ravens attire for the occasion. I'm a fan, after all; I wasn't there to blend.
And then the taunting began. "Go home!" "We hate birds!"
At first people were good-natured, just giving us a hard time. But they also were impressed that two ladies had made the trip. "Who did you come with?" was followed by looks of surprise when we said, "Ourselves."
I sensed that they assumed their team was going to win, so it didn't hurt to be nice to the interlopers. And then the Steelers' winning drive began.
As did the heckling that brought new meaning to the word. I had people yelling in my face, and one man who risked losing his arm as he rubbed my head when the Steelers scored.
Suddenly the harmless goading was turning uncomfortable. Kristin had to take "beer breaks" every so often to get away from it all.
Even when our team did something worth celebrating, we couldn't be heard. We were the only two visitors in our entire section, and it felt overwhelming.
As the game drew to a close, I knew that we weren't going to come out on the winning end, but I started to realize that I was learning something about sportsmanship that I hoped to pass onto my children.
I played sports more whole life, and I know how hard it is not to be a sore loser. You want to feel sorry for yourself in whatever way possible. You want the other team to pay for your pain.
But what I never thought much about was the concept of sore winners. Now I know it firsthand.
After the last whistle blew, I heard some Steelers fans breathing down my neck, shouting "Na-na na-na, hey, hey, goodbye." Not a new cheer, but I don't normally get it shouted in my face.
And then we walked out through what felt like a gauntlet. "Loser! Loser!" they shouted in our faces as we pushed through the crowd. I saw them holding up the "L" for loser and laughing at us while another man yelled, "White trash sluts!"
Our team did lose, after all, and I'm sure there were Ravens fans in the crowd tossing trash in other sections of the stadium. But I wasn't one of them. I was there to root for my team and could only find myself saying, "Thanks for having us," as verbal dirt hit my face.
So now that I'm back home, I can share a little lesson with my kids. Win or lose, it's important to maintain your composure. Because next season we're going to win, and I have a feeling the other side won't be so smug this time.
Laura Lewis Brown is the mother of infant twins. Her column appears every other Thursday. 
