There’s nothing quite like a trip to the trampoline park to remind me:

1) How old I am

2) That yes, I have actually grown and birthed a baby

and

3) To Get Up

Yesterday, nearing the end of our hour-long jump (and rock climb, and dodge ball, and basketball), Briggs and I headed toward the foam pit.

“It’s easy, Mum, you just run, jump and crash in.  Watch!”

Briggs demonstrated with as must gusto as you can imagine an active six year-old can muster before noon.

“You’re turn.”

I took a bit of a running start, got in two pretty good jumps and then landed (cannon ball style) into the pit of purple foam cubes.

After a deep exhale I admitted, “I wasn’t nervous about the launch or the fall, it’s the getting up that’s got me a little wobbly.”

A pit of foam cubes sounds like it should be easy enough to navigate, but it’s actually pretty awkward and requires a bit of upper body strength that my yoga workout earlier in the morning kind of borrowed from.

The brilliant little girl to my left noticed my struggle and without any prompting offered the following:

“Yeah, getting up is always the hardest part – that’s what makes it worth doing.”

I told her she was wise.  Took another breath.  And gave thanks for the reminder.

Getting up is always the hardest part – that’s what makes it worth doing.