I get it now. I’m old. I’m not bendy or twisty anymore, and I’m sure a lot less cool than I thought.
Last weekend, as part of our “Look! -Moving-to-Phoenix-in-the-middle-of-summer-isn’t-so-bad!” family waterpark day- my husband and I rode all of the fun waterslides with our kids. We played alongside them in the pee and snot-filled wave pool (trying not to let the water get anywhere near our mouths) and we did all of the things “cool parents” are supposed to do when sucking up to their once-again-uprooted kids.
I, as the adventurous, will-go-on-any-rollercoaster-or-ride mom that I am- let myself be talked into this aquatic death drop of doom ride with my brave daughter. No big deal. It’s a steep drop in an inflatable, seatbelt-less floatie the size of two dining chairs connected only by our limbs and a prayer. We were shoved over the sheer-face cliff of water only to “gently” hit bottom at what felt like 100 feet below. Then, mercifully, our raft glided up the opposite side of the cliff, causing us to slow down until back and forth and back and forth we were rocked to a stop. And THIS is where I got hurt.
Built up excitement and anticipation? Cake.
Cool mom in the eyes of my pre-teen? You bet.
Drop of death? Easy peasy.
Recovery? That of a rubber-necked grandma who was too deaf to heed the warning:
“Make sure you keep your chin to your chest the whole time!”.
My neck snapped backward with no control from it’s supporting or surrounding muscles. My unsympathetic husband (“You shouldn’t have gone on that ride in the first place”) was kind enough to get it all on tape and I was able to stop the video footage just at precisely the exact moment for you to see the anguish in my 41 year old face.
Cool mom indeed!