The Things We Parents Go Through By Trish Smith

The Things We Parents Go Through

By Trish Smith

Obviously going through childbirth (as the mother, not the baby) is fairly horrendous.  Horrendous in a good way, ultimately, but certainly very, very hard work and yes, quite uncomfortable and not a little bit messy.  But at least you forget the pain of childbirth.  But there are plenty of things you go through after the baby is born that are far messier, and those things?  Those things you remember. 

I am writing this column propped up in bed with five pillows and a double-dose of anti-inflammatory pills coursing through my veins.  Nine hours ago I fell off a very large horse and I’m pretty sure that although I haven’t actually broken all the ribs on my left side, they were all crushed together in a way they are not designed to be and the sensation of having my left ribcage and face smashed into the putrid sand of the riding arena is one I will not quickly forget.

You may well ask what the heck I was doing on a horse.  Well, I turned 36 this year and I have it on good authority that turning 40 can be quite stressful if you haven’t got all your ducks in a row.  I have many ducks and if I work hard enough I should be able to get them all lined up by the big four-oh if I get started right now.  Number one duck is, of course, getting into shape.  This year I have taken up yoga, rowing and horse riding.  Yoga is for relaxation, rowing is for muscle tone, horse riding is for my family.

My mother in law has ridden all her life, and when Maddie turned three she bought her a beautiful handmade rocking horse from the man near Goulburn whose driveway is marked with a big sign saying “rocking horses”.  Gingerpop, as she is known, was three year old Maddie’s pride and joy, and is the reason Maddie has turned into a horsey-girl.  At the age of five Maddie announced she wanted to learn to ride a real horse, and we said she could when she was old enough (the youngsters start at 6), if she was still interested.  For her sixth birthday, my mother in law came to the party with six lessons, a pair of jodhpurs, a helmet and the cutest little riding boots you ever saw.  And a pink crop. 

Nearly four years later and Maddie is quite a good rider.  She is certainly very confident, and this confidence extends to other areas of her life.  Whenever she’s nervous about something – whether it’s standing in front of the school to speak at assembly or getting ready to take the court against a much taller Goal Defence – she repeats her little self-affirming mantra to herself: “I can gallop, so I can do this!”

Caitlin started riding two and a half years later, when she turned six.  I don’t think she’s taken to it with quite the level of enthusiasm that Maddie has, but she is keeping up with it and gets very excited when she has a good ride.

So, back to my point.  I also have it on good authority that teenage girls can be absolute nightmares to live with once they hit that age where they hate you and think you’re a complete idiot with no fashion sense and an embarrassing tendency to try to say witty things in front of their friends.  I’m quite prepared for this phase (which is to say the wine cellar is well stocked) but I want to try to maintain at least some semblance of a relationship with my girls during the teenage years and this is why I’m learning to ride.  Something that we three can do together, something we enjoy that is fun and relaxing and can be done wherever we might be living, and for the rest of our lives.  Or at least until I get too old. 

In May this year I finally succumbed to the riding school owner’s nagging (is that a pun?) and signed up for lessons.  I have had about three months of half-hour, once a week lessons with the fabulous Inga, and I’m at the stage now where I can trot confidently.  I’ve been learning to canter this past month, and on one particular horse I am pretty comfortable.  I wasn’t riding that horse today.  I also didn’t have reins or stirrups.  Today was a one-day riding class for adults and we were doing balancing exercises.  I was doing really well right up until the moment my horse (cruelly named Chocolate) went into a canter and I went over the side.

It really hurt.  I’d like to say I was tough and brave and stoic but the mouthful of sand and the feeling of my ribs crushing together like fingers being squeezed by a salesman’s handshake made my eyes water just a little.  I lay there for several minutes, fairly sure that nothing was broken but too nervous to move just in case a disc slipped, or something.  I fell directly onto my left side, with my left arm under me.  My ribcage is extremely sore; I can’t take deep breaths or turn from side to side.  My left hip and thigh are aching and my left arm is tender.  I’d give anything for an epidural.

I got back onto the horse as soon as I could, and even managed to stick out the rest of the day which included a trail ride.  Eventually though it became too uncomfortable and I was very glad to be going home.  My husband, who was no doubt waiting for me to come home to give him a break from a full day of kid-wrangling,  greeted me at the door with a gentle hug and lots of sympathy, and strict orders to go to bed.  Later, he brought me dinner and the laptop.

 
My next lesson is on Wednesday, and I fully intend to go provided the pain has subsided a little.  And I will keep going along every week, working on my balance and hoping that next time I fall off I’ll be equally lucky not to do any permanent damage.  Maddie has come off half a dozen times in her almost four years of riding, and she told me today that you don’t get to call yourself a rider until you’ve come off 100 times, so I have 99 accidents to go.  I’m pretty sure I won’t survive another 99 falls, but then again, I didn’t think I’d survive labour and I managed to do that twice AND forget how much it hurt.

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