I just threw my back out. I wasn't even doing anything good like fooling around or rescuing a cat. I was standing up.
I'll give you a moment to process that.
In case you were wondering, crumpling in pain is heeelarious to the under-2 set. Luckily I was able to ease myself into the rocker without dropping the child. (Don't think I wasn't tempted.) Throwing your back out is one of those conditions that seems movie-painful, like when you see a guy get nailed in the balls. It couldn't possibly hurt that much, right?
Oh it totally, totally does.
Slight scoliosis and the weakest abs in town cause me to throw my back out with some regularity. I have a great chiropractor but even she can't disguise the fact that Ali's becoming ancient. My birthday is coming up, which is both wonderful and mortifying. I still think I look damn good for my age but it's getting harder and harder to ignore the crinkles. Not that I'll do anything about it. I'm stuanchly anti-facelift (if you ask me, Battlestar lost a lot of cred when Roslin got work done. And have you seen Glenn Close?) but that doesn't stop me from slathering on the latest drugstore wonder cream and hoping for the best. I'm very happy with my life and wouldn't be 22 again if you paid me (well, maybe if you PAID me) but sitting here, hunched over the computer, shoving Cheez-Its into my maw (it was the only thing I could reach) it's hard not to feel a bit stale.
And how the heck am I going to get that baby out of the crib?