I realize this is going to sound like whining. That’s only because it IS whining. I feel old. It’s not just the interrupted sleep and the lack of anything to say in conversation other than the amount of spit up I’ve seen that day or the way in which Little Bear clings to his ‘monk monk’ (pacifier with stuffed monkey attachment) adorably, oh, and here’s seventy pictures of him doing that, want to see?
It’s the fact that I’m thirty-three and I woke up two nights ago with a spasming back and could barely get out of bed which led to a full-on panic attack about how I was going to take care of my son when Big Radish went to work for twelve hours. Yes, a spasming back, at thirty-three. To be fair, my back has never been spectacular. I blame a lifetime of heavy backpacking and weird sleep positions, particularly once we got a dog who required me to get incredibly creative in leg placement so as to make sure he was comfortable… I’m not just a people pleaser, I’m a dog pleaser.
Anyway, the story here is that the morning before the back incident, I finally got out of the house with Little Bear and we went to a mamalates class. Yep. That’s exactly what it sounds like. Six mommas with six babies stretching and working out while their kiddos either slept, burbled, squeaked, or occasionally attached to a boob. It was great! I got to see a few friends including the momma who I talk to the most via text but rarely get to see. The class was taught by a friend as well, so overall it was a socially rewarding experience.
However… THIS IS WHY I CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS. I’m old. One low impact mamalates class and I wake up at three in the morning in horrible, wrenching, sob-inducing pain. My poor husband did everything he could think of. He massaged me, he got me Advil, he suggested I take a hot shower, he made sure Little Bear was ok (though that kid has been sleeping like a damn rock lately), and he even made a next day chiropractic appointment.
I was in so much pain that night I ended up taking half an oxy. I have a lot of oxy left from my recovery. Without really getting into my birth story, I’ll say that I got to ten centimeters, pushed once, and then had to get an emergency C-section. I had the enjoyable task of recovering from both. Needless to say, there were pain pills prescribed. I have a lot of feelings about oxy, which I may make a post about later on and go into more detail, but in the briefest of terms: I’m extremely cautious around it. Even taking half a pill gives me a level of anxiety. It was necessary so I could sleep, and the following day I took the other half so I could care for my son without the spasms completely incapacitating me.
I felt so ooooooold. I was hunched and grumbly, I shook my fist at some birds, I muttered about ‘kids these days’ while wiping off a shoulder full of spit up. I was a miserable, hobbling, little creature who couldn’t even use the front pack to lull Little Bear to sleep, and thus, put him in the stroller and rolled it around in circles on the hardwoods until I got dizzy.
We survived, clearly, and when I went upstairs that night and looked in the mirror I saw a tired, hunched, flustered looking sixty-year-old trapped in a thirty-three-year-old’s body. Ugh. This motherhood thing batters the body, and more than just with the birth. They don’t tell you that lugging a little lump of perfection around will throw everything out of whack. The chiropractor was lovely and I have more movement though I’m still a little sore. I do pose a question to all you mommas out there however…
How do you keep your body from completely giving out on you?
Do you ladies stretch?
Do you consciously work on posture throughout the day?
Are you all yoga instructors?