old

Yesterday, I felt very old.

Hubs and I took M* to the park for some springtime fun. Our first stop: the slide.

I sat at the top while Hubs positioned himself for the catch at the bottom. I would send M flying down to Hubs, who would pick him up, brush him off (because Hubs is OCD and is constantly straightening that boy out) and hand him back up to me. This lasted for a while until M insisted on grabbing the side as he slid down which skewed his body and nearly flipped him upside down on his face each time. We decided that meant M was done with the slide.

I had noticed during our sliding soiree that every time Hubs handed M to me, his big, baby eyes were locked on the fascinating tunnel just over my shoulder. I had the brilliant idea to let him crawl all over the jungle jim as I followed on my knees. Make that bad idea...

I barely made it half a foot into the tunnel before pain like I had never felt before began to radiate from my knees. Agonizing pain like 10,000 dull butter knives being forced into my kneecaps stopped me in my tracks. But M? Well, he didn't stop and wait for his favorite aunt; his knees felt just fine. So, I gingerly followed him for the rest of the 2 feet to the tunnel's end, mumbling "oooww, oouu, eeee," the whole way. Thankfully, Hubs was waiting at the end and had M safely in tow by the time I reached the light. When I was finally able to extricate my body from the very small tunnel, I sat back, smoothed down my static hair and massaged my tender joints.

"Whew," I said. "Does it mean that I am old that I can barely crawl 3 feet through a tunnel because of blinding pain shooting through my knees?"

But Hubs said no.


I sat there a second longer allowing the pain to fully subside before M and I slid down the windy slide, and we all made our way to the swings.

As a child, the swings were my absolute favorite part of recess, the park and warm afternoons. My dad would have to beg me off of the swingset in our backyard. It was a magical place kept shady and cool because of the far-reaching limbs of the pecan trees that lived there. I would swing as high as I could or until my dad yelled at me to "SLOOOW DOOWN!" and try to touch the green leaves with the tips of my toes. I pretended that I lived in a tree world, where the leaves were clouds. I also had swinging competitions with myself, where you were awarded points for straight arms, no bounce and a big dismount. (While recollecting on this yesterday with Hubs, he challenged me to a competition, which he lost, because of bent elbows and a very big bounce. He also couldn't keep his feet locked together while pumping. Bad form. I told him all of this, and he proceeded to make fun of me and even made fun of me last night before bed. No more shared stories of youth with you, Hubs. So, I was a weird kid? You married me!)

Not weird though. I like to say that I've always had a fantastic imagination.

Well, yesterday, I decided to relive a bit of my childhood via the swing set. I mean, its a swing. There shouldn't be anything about it to make me feel old like the tunnel. Well, that wasn't entirely the case. Oh, don't worry. I was able to swing. I actually was able to swing for quite a while until I could no longer take the restrictive swing and its death grip on my hips and thigh bones. I mean, ouch. Is there any way to retro-fit a swing for a woman's hips? Because that swing wasn't letting anything give.

So, as you might figure that made me feel old: the fact that I couldn't swing comfortably. And also the fact that I was terrified to jump out of the swing, which at one time was my absolute favorite part. I mean, who doesn't like a good dismount? I wanted to jump. I really did, but I was too afraid of the broken bones that might result from such a risky maneuver. Because I now have old, brittle bones, not tough, pliable bones like I once had.

And last but not least, the real kicker that made me feel old as dirt: the immediate motion sickness that took over my entire being as soon as I set foot on solid ground. I mean I almost lost my Special K after two steps off the swing set.

What a day. Don't worry M, this doesn't mean that Aunt Beeze won't take you to the park anymore. It actually means many more visits to the park, because Aunt Beeze is determined to overcome knee pain and swings adverse to fat-bottomed girls.

Oh, and I tried to do the monkey bars, but that is an entirely different story and I am still recovering from my overall failure to make it 2 rungs to divulge any of it now if ever. 



*our nephew, formerly known as MilkMonster, who is now just Monster; M for short