Some things seem like a good idea at the time.
Reorganizing your sock drawer.
Exercising with your children…
Kiama lights up a room. She smiles on command. She sleeps like a teenager. She has a healthy appetite. She even waits in her bouncer politely while I finish the dishes without making me feel guilty. In other words, she is the ideal baby. Her only flaw is that she turned my abdomen into a deflated pool toy. She also caused instability in my pelvis. As a result, my hips don’t lie they just hurt like hell most of the time.
Fortunately, I got onto the problem early thanks to repeated visits to the physio (Physical Therapist) shortly after giving birth. Lately, I have been feeling great. Which is why I thought it would be a wonderful time to try and get rid of the pool toy.
Kiama isn’t a huge fan of the pram (stroller) nor is she quite old enough to enjoy a creche (childcare) hence power walking or attending an aerobic class is not an option.
So what does one do?
The answer came to me in a moment of great distress. Kenna and Chaylee were careening through the house at top speed running into walls and furniture. Despite my cries to cease and desist, they continued using our home furnishings as leverage and each other as inspiration.
And then it occurred to me–if you can’t beat them, join them!
No one has more energy and stamina than young children. If I could tap into that power source, perhaps I could not only get the exercise I desperately needed but I could quench their desire to destroy property while simultaneously being an engaged parent void of rage.
It seemed like a really, really good idea.
We each chose two high energy songs a piece. We then took turns leading one another in aerobic activity for the duration of our selected song.
Chaylee was first to lead. She started by holding herself up off the ground with one hand while jutting her right leg at a 90 degree angle in the air, and from there it got worse- high speed jumping jacks, ergonomically incorrect push ups, extreme lunging and summersaults off the couch. I knew it was high impact–dangerous even, but I was committed. I mimicked her every move with precision.
Kenna’s routine was slightly less crazed but equally challenging. Her approach was more like a bitter PE Coach that always wanted to go pro but instead ended up in a multi-purpose room berating 8th graders who were unable to do the backwards roll in tumbling class.
I can’t tumble okay! You happy now Kenna?
When it was my turn to lead I gave the girls a taste of their own medicine. My moves were fierce, repetitive and complicated. They required skill and rhythm and adult size appendages.
What’s up now kid…huh? What now son?
We ended with some collective stretching and breathing exercises. All in all it was a success. I had some minor aches and pains, but I was proud of the sweat on my brow and the time I spent with my kids.
Because of the success of my first aerobic endeavor with the girls, we decided to have another go the next day. But, this time Kiama’s legacy became apparent.
Chaylee, once again, started her routine with her extreme one armed power stance, but this time my pelvis turned into a heartbreak hotel. I was in agony from the downbeat. Every move was a challenge. Every haphazard sit up seemed ill advised. I felt like an old woman. But, still I pressed on. I begged Kenna to go easy on me but she was merciless. Soon, the pain was too much and I had to give up the fight and put my pelvis to rest.
As a result of my awesome idea, I am now disabled. I am unable to walk normally. I cannot sit, stand or roll over with out guttural utterances. I am no longer capable of picking up any of my children without a shriek or grunt. I currently sit on an ice pack when I drive and moan when I put on pants.
It really did seem like a good idea at the time.
Words of the Day:
Good Oil: Good Idea
Old Girl: Mother
It seemed like good oil, but this old girl just can’t keep up with her ankle biters.
Mike did warn me that my awesome idea might end badly.
What was your best idea gone wrong? Tell me. I really do want to know.
Australian fact that has nothing to do with pelvises or exercise.
If an Aussie asks you if they can nurse your baby do not be dismayed. They merely want to cuddle the child, not breast feed them. I wish someone would have let me in on that little gem a bit sooner.