On Second Thought

I am 56 and a half years old. I do yoga almost every day. Yet I crawl out of my bed today to tell you that I don’t believe people my age are meant to raise small children.

This message is screamed at you by every joint and muscle in my body, through my fingers.

Last week I wrote about Christmas in July, with my daughter, sonin-law, and two grandsons coming to Texas on a surprise visit....for a whole week. And I’m not complaining, at all.

When they left last weekend, I cried, then crawled into bed. When I crawled out three hours later I had a defined pillowcase seam mark on my face for several hours and I thought I had arrived on a new planet.

I hurt from my shoulders to the bottom of my feet, literally. I still have no idea how I bruised the bottom of my foot but I did, as well as numerous other sketchy places.

My six-year-old grandson, Eli, is always on the move, so lots of time was spent swimming, playing games and laughing. My four-month-old grandson, Jack is also always on the move when he isn’t eating, but only under adult human power, preferably bouncing and walking for hours.

Since Jack is a nursed baby, the only way I could help was to take him when he wasn’t eating, which means I was his human bounce house for a week.

I was tempted to ask my daughter how she does it, but I already knew the answer because I had lived it many moons ago . . . you just do.

When my body gave out, I choreographed an entire Dance Party USA with Jack, choosing Beyonce’s Crazy in Love for his debut, and he loved it.

It was as hysterical, restful and satisfying as it sounds. Unlike his brother, Jack loves it when I sing and that boy has moves like Jagger.

I, on the other hand, have moves like a molasses.– but very happy molasses.

So everyone clink together your glasses of baby formula and Metamucil and takes those naps while you can.