Lazy River Mom

I have always had a fear of heights. In seventh grade we toured a mining plant and the guide was so excited to lead our class to an outdoor catwalk that connected two separate buildings. It was very high off the ground and made of very holey metal so you could see straight through. To. The. Ground. All the kids were excited to cross, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to make a scene but I couldn't just step out to my death. A boy in my class noticed how distressed I was and offered to let me hold on to him. I don't think he was expecting me to cling to him, my arms wrapped around his waist with my face pressed against his back as he led me across the way. He was so kind about it and I will forever be grateful. (Thank you, Jimmy, wherever you are!) 

Aside from plant tours and the occasional flight, it hasn't been that difficult to avoid heights in my life. Especially since we have mostly lived in small towns and tall buildings just don't exist there. Ever since this last pregnancy, however, my fear of heights has been magnified tenfold. While I was pregnant, I couldn't even bear to see heights in movies. There is a fight scene in Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings where they are fighting on some scaffolding, it made me so dizzy I had to close my eyes and hold my head. The vertigo was so bad. During any tall shot in a movie or T.V., I would flinch and instinctively grab my poor husband. 

Our baby is seven months old and the vertigo has never gone away. Thanks a lot, Hormones. This brief backstory brings us to last week when our family was finally able to go to a water park. One of the big ticket items on our summer bucket list. Cowabunga Bay is a condensed water park with five or six water slides all intertwined. My kids are familiar with my relationship with heights so we all planned on Barry being Fun Slide Dad and I would be Fun Lazy River Mom. 

I kept watching them all have fun on the slides. And really, a few of them didn't seem that high. I spent hours in the lazy river and kiddie pool with Hollie, trying to convince myself that the blue slide was manageable. When my husband met up with me I told him, "I think I can do the blue slide." To which he very kindly and skeptically told me I didn't have to prove anything. 

But I was determined. 

I wanted to be Fun Slide Parent too! Once our kids found us, I told them the plan and the two oldest kids were pumped to join me. 

As we started our way through the jungle gym, I kept telling myself this wasn't so bad. It wasn't high at all. Until I was about ten feet away from our destination. Only one more flight of see-through stairs separated me from my goal. (Who designed those holey metal stairs?! I'd like to punch them in the face!) As soon as we were about to reach the stairs, I froze. I couldn't get my feet to move, and I couldn't relax the death grip on the hand railing. Several small children came up behind us, and I gruffly told them to go around me. My kids were both coaching me, "You can do it, Mom!" "You're so close!" 

But my brain wouldn't comply. I just kept shaking my head, until the oldest finally said, "I'm gonna go get Dad." After a few minutes, Barry and Laycee joined us on the little stoop. He kept assuring me it was okay to go back down, but my older daughter kept countering, "Don't do it, Mom! You can do this!" I wanted to show her that I could do it but I wasn't making a decision. Finally, Barry just grabbed my hand and encouraged me toward the stairs to the slide. "Close your eyes," he said. But once I did, I started hyperventilating and tears started spilling out against my will. I was on the verge of a literal panic attack while small children raced past me, giggling! 

Once I listened to my body, I knew what I needed to do. I looked at my hopeful daughter and apologized. I had to turn around. She was so disappointed, but Fun Slide Dad told her he wanted to ride with her anyway. They pressed on without me while Laycee held my hand for the walk of shame down the stairs. The whole time she kept squeezing my hand and saying, "It's okay, Mom." 

There was a ten foot slide for little kids at the very bottom so I jokingly told her I could ride that one with her. And we did. And we laughed at the ridiculousness of it. On our walk back to the van, I apologized to my older daughter. "I'm sorry I couldn't ride the slide with you. I wanted you to see your mom do something hard, but I'll just have to be an example to you in other ways. Like being nice to people. On the ground." She rolled her eyes, laughed and hugged me. 

But days later and I still can't decide how I feel about the whole situation. I'm talking about the parenting side of it, I know the event itself was completely absurd. But was it a good thing that my kids got to see a major weakness in an adult? To know that parents aren't infallible? Or was it bad for them to see that Mom can't accomplish hard things? Will they discount me if I ever try to encourage them to do something difficult for themselves? Or was it just a thing, neither good or bad? I'm not sure. But all I can say is my kids must recognize that it was a very traumatic experience for me because not a single one of them have teased me about it. 

I just have to be okay with the fact that I will always just be Lazy River Mom.