Hula-Hoops and Hips

The Hoop and a bunch of other stuff piled high. 

Recently, the family was out enjoying unseasonably warm weather. We hauled out the toy bin and let our daughter go crazy. Everything was fine, until I went a little crazy. 

It started with us innocently passing, kicking and playing. Then, the hoop came out.

As a kid hula hooping was not my favorite activity, I liked kicking things way too much.

Now that I’m two kids into mid-life, the hula-hoop is not my friend. Let’s just say if you ever have the opportunity to comment on a mother attempting to hoop near the anniversary of her C-section, don’t. Because I have a sneaking suspicion no matter what you say, she’ll respond much the same way I did, kind of like Jennifer Garner on a recent Jay Leno appearance, before the birth of her third child in February, as she described some guy who commented on how she’d have a Merry Christmas baby. She was rightfully peeved and said something awesome. It goes like this: If you see a pregnant woman tell her wow, you look tiny, look how thin your thighs are, way to go! I agree Jen, way to go!

So, I hooped. And about a millisecond later it dropped over my droop and landed on the ground. Huff. I tried again. And again. Nada.

When I heard the phrase, I thought girls were supposed to know how to hula hoop. I hissed out a low expletive, the kids were there, and left the scene to cool off. Really, I went to kick something, but it helped the cooling off process. It worked, a little.

Today, while the kids and I were out shopping for laundry detergent, my nemesis appeared. It took 30 seconds for me to yank down one of those darn hoops and try it out. Right there in the middle of the store. I had already contemplated hula-hoop lessons, but dismissed them thinking it was a fluke that I couldn’t even crank out one revolution.

Good thing too, because when I tried it, it worked! Shocked, I tried it again, and it worked, again! That’s it; I’m buying this hoop. I thought. I’m taking it home and the minute my husband walks in the door I’m going to show him that I can indeed hula-hoop.

While driving home it occurred to me that hoop size may indeed be a factor. Perhaps my kid’s miniature hoop was just too little for my, ahem, mature hips. Not to dwell, I’m just glad I’ve still got it.

Now, I’m just waiting. Working, typing, mothering, but also waiting. Hopefully, he’ll get a kick out of the whole thing, but we’ll see. This time though, I’ll try to maintain my composure better, and my sense of humor.

We will see…