Friday, August 28, 2009

Fleeting Youth

Boo learned how to do somersaults at school.
So I watched as he rolled all over our yard.
Then, in a fit of parental stupidity, I decided to show off.
And I did a cartwheel.
Something I haven't done since I was about twenty years younger and thirty pounds less Rubinesque.
I pulled something that used to be essential in baby making.
As I limped away, The Man decided to join me in the land of Stupid Things Parents Do Trying to Prove to their children They Aren't Old Farts.
He did a cartwheel.
And messed up his elbow, and made his hand scream in outrage.
And sending him straight for the pain killers.
Our heathens laughed and begged for an encore.
At which time, I grabbed bags of groceries and declared their was work to do as I hobble, bowlegged as a cowboy right out of the saddle, into my house.
And I remembered the times when I would throw myself into a running round off, or a cartwheel, or a flip, when my body responded not with groans and pain, but with lithe movements and grace.
I remember being able to run without my knees causing me pain, and without my boobs slapping me in the face.
I remember how it felt to be young.
And it made me feel impossibly old.
At thirty three.
I'm old.
And since The Man is seven years older than I, he's practically decrepit.
Now that makes me feel a little better.
As I hold ice packs to the baby maker.
And vow I will NEVER do that again.
Unless drunk and dared.

1 comment:

Tara said...

Laughing so hard I can't even respond!