Looking at Retirement Homes

On Sunday, my 2-year-old fell asleep on my lap during church. He weighs 35 pounds, and half of that is his head. Which was resting on my forearm. I was holding extremely still, because, as uncomfortable as a dead-weight sleeping toddler is, an awake toddler that's already been to two hours of church is much much worse. So I held as still as my body would allow, and successfully kept him asleep for the entire hour of Sacrament Meeting. I didn't think much about it, and came home and went about the rest of my day. The next morning, though, oy, did I feel it. You know in the cartoons, when they hit the ground and end up in a body-shaped hole in the ground? There was a Rachel-shaped hole in my mattress, and I was 3 inches inside it. And I was pretty sure the Hulk had just thrown me around a few times then slammed me into the ground. After lifting my head three or four times and giving up, I decided the best move would be to swing my legs out of the hole and onto the floor, then ease the rest of myself out of bed one vertebra at a time. Crack, crackle, CRACK. And I'm up. After limping downstairs and getting going for the morning, I figured I'd limber up. But halfway through a shopping trip to Walmart, which was taking a painfully long time due to my excruciatingly slow pace (you try pushing a cart with 2 stout boys and a load of groceries while sporting a backache), I still felt like a fragile old woman. I came to the conclusion that I AM GETTING OLD.

Actually, that whole day was just a confirmation of a suspicion that has been growing since our trip to Lagoon last week. As a teenager and young adult, I'd hop on the spinny rides without a second thought, ride them four times in a row, and happily skip to the next twirling ride. Roller coasters didn't phase me once I stopped being afraid of them. They were just another way to find excitement and hang out with friends. Last week, I went on the Colossus (a roller coaster with 2 loops and a few twists) once with my 9-year-old, and had to hold onto the fence and regain my equilibrium so I wouldn't vomit into the zinnias. And that's a classic ride! I would go on that ride 5 times in a row without so much as a twinge when I was in my twenties. The Wild Mouse made me feel like my neck was going to crack. When Jacob suggested we go on Wicked, a much more exciting roller coaster than the Colossus or Wild Mouse, I knew I couldn't do it. I wanted to ride it. A much younger part of my soul was shouting "DO IT!" at me. But my weary, dizzy, older self said no. We met back up with Tim, whose birthday we were celebrating (I'm not telling you which birthday, but I will tell you this is his last year in his thirties), and I suggested that he take Jacob on Wicked. He said, "Honey, I'm getting old. I can't handle these rides anymore." That's when the thought occurred to me that perhaps I haven't gotten wimpier, just older. My body doesn't have the stamina to endure being pulled in 5 directions over the course of 30 seconds. My inner ear is losing its grip.

So I'm getting old. I understand now why, when I ask my mom to come along to Lagoon with us, she cheerfully declines. I understand why Tim wanted to invest in a pricey air mattress for camping instead of using the older, thinner one. Our bodies just aren't what they used to be.

HOWEVER, my parents have given me hope. They still go mountain biking, backpacking, play tennis and racquetball, ride horses, and go camping. So tomorrow, If I can peel myself out of my bed, I'll hop on my bike and haul the kids up and down some hills and try to feel less than eighty years old.