watch your back

So here's what happened to me yesterday.

The kids had had breakfast, they were dressed and I was bending, packing the last bag when my back suddenly gave way. Just up and left the room. Damn thing. I yelled. The kids came running, full of "you SCARED me Mum" accusations. 

I take full responsibility for the swear words Henry and Tilly learnt yesterday.

My first thought was: how do I ever move from this crone-like hunched over position ever again? Second was: how do I get to the toilet? Is this going to be the most embarrassing day of my life? And third: I can't pick up my baby. 

The phone was in arms reach so I called my wonderful next door neighbour, but she'd left for work. I could call Ad but he was at least forty five minutes away by train. Drugs, I thought. Drugs might solve this. 

I somehow got over to the medicine cabinet and looked up to the high, high shelf where we keep the box of stuff. How the crap am I supposed to raise my arms high enough to reach that? More swearing. Swung an arm. Hit the box. Knocked onto floor. Decide bending is even more painful than reaching. Am so totally screwed. 

But have birthed three babes naturally, the last with zero drugs, so dammit, I bend, I grab, I shuffle to the the kitchen and pop three Nurofen Plus and am about to skull when I remember I'm breastfeeeding. "Do not take while breastfeeding" says the packet. More swearing. The kids are fascinated. 

I somehow managed to pack up the medicine box and pull out some panadol. That'll have to do. I stand, all skewed and bent, in the kitchen until it makes a tiny dint in the pain. 

Then I bark at Henry and Tilly to pick up their bags and wait at the front door while I ponder my 8kg almost-five-month-old and how to pick her up out of her rocker. 

I do a smooth maneuver involving sitting on a chair with her at my feet, propping my arms on my knees and lifting her with one hand onto my lap. Oh yes, more swearing. 

Why did I not consider just letting Henry and Tilly stay at home? I really have no idea. It's like I was on  trajectory that had to be completed. The Thursday morning daycare and school drop off. Immutable. 

I cursed my way to the door, and got outside to the car. I dropped, or perhaps, rolled Ivy into her carseat and the other kids buckled up. 

I got to daycare and threw Tilds out, marvellous self sufficient child that she is. 

I got to school and threw Henry out and bribed him with Angry Birds time on my iPhone after school if he would walk in the gate by himself. (Yes, he did that that one time only.)

Back at home I waited by the car for ten minutes hoping someone would come by and help me lift my sleeping baby out, but then I thought about Nessie and I asking some random passing-by guy to help us carry a toy kitchen out of her house to my car and he totally dropped it, so I abandoned and lugged her in myself. 

Ivy, the most accommodting baby in the universe, slept all morning. Just slept in her little rocker, woke up once for a feed and dropped off again. I lay down flat on the floor next to her on a mattress and played an hour or so of Cut the Rope (an iPhone app way more addictive than Angry Birds.)

Jim and Jen, Ad's folks, a.k.a. The Cavalry, arrived at lunchtime. 

And after some physio and acupuncture I am finally standing upright. Mostly. 

How much do we rely on our backs though? Gosh!

Time to start looking after mine. 

Hope you're looking after yours. 


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