The Day My Mother Tried to Kill Me, aka: Break, Water, Break!

Dr. R, who is going on vacation at the end of this week, wrote me to tell me to keep walking.

My mother, who is very excited to meet her newest grandchildren, has taken this edict very seriously. So yesterday, when Bruno dropped me off at her house while he wheeled and dealed with the fellows at Subaru, Mom got me on my feet and out walking.

Her neighborhood is just gorgeous. All of Northern CA is at this time of year, but her neighborhood is a beautiful mix of fabulous houses, stately old trees and positively prolific flowers, all of which Mom seems to know the names for. She started off at a clip, I pulled her back to my toddler waddler pace, and all was well. For the first ten minutes or so.

Somewhere in those ten minutes, I was asked how I was doing, and whether I needed to return home or whether I could continue on for another block or two. Bravely, I opted for the additional blocks, and forward we continued. A few steps later, and I found myself in a scene from some movie where the main character is experiencing the results of having taken hallucinogenic drugs: the block in front of me stretched forward and away, seeming to have no end. My mother was babbling away at my side but I couldn't understand a word she was saying. All I could think about were my throbbing Fred Flintstone feet and my burning, overtaxed lower back.

Mom, to her credit, noticed my shift of focus and asked if I'd like to turn around and head back home. 'No', I heard myself reply, 'You say it is only one more block to the turn around, and I'm supposed to walk, right?' We continue another quarter of a block, and it dawns on me that this may well be the longest block I have ever encountered. Longer than a long NYC block, longer than THREE long NYC blocks. A woman pulls her mini-van in ahead of us, and I consider begging her to drive me back home. I continue plodding past the lucky woman, who has already reached her home and can sit down whenever she wants to. I hate her a little.

We take step after painful step, Mom naming every flower we pass, and finally turn the corner and begin our return journey. Mom points out a brand of mini-van she is considering buying and I hear myself snarl, 'I don't care. How far is your house'? A few more steps, and Mom stops to admire a majestic tree. 'If you stop my forward motion, I will kill you', I threaten. We are both giggling now with the absurdity of my panting agony. Mom cautions me to move to the right to let a jogger through, and I am lapped by an octogenarian. I mutter that I think I could be lapped by a turtle right now and the octogenarian power walks past and tells me to hang in there. A few more strained steps, and I see Mom and Dad's place. Eye on the prize, I leave Mom in the dust and head straight for the door, calling out,'Which one is your reclining chair?' 'Why?", Mom wants to know. 'Because I'm going to go break my water in it' I reply, and we find ourselves in hysterics.

A full 24 hours and four walks later, and my bag of waters is still intact. These girls are as stubborn as each of their female ancestors.