Son of a Bitch. That's my new pet name for the angel inside of me. It's okay for me to refer to him as Son of a Bitch, as technically I'm insulting myself and not him.
So, the Son of a Bitch has begun his descent into the real world (he'll be full term in two days), starting with the wedging of his gigantic Son of a Bitch head into my pelvis. Which is freaky to think about, so I try not to. But what is really causing me problems is that his aforementioned gigantic noggin is apparently putting my pelvic alignment out of whack, and pushing on my Sciatic nerve. Which means constant back ache, accented by the occasional burst of sharp pain when I try to walk. So much for enjoying the first couple of weeks of mat leave before the big event.
The midwife wants me to go to a chiropractor that specializes in prenatal massage. He will supposedly be able to help realign my pelvis and alleviate the pain. I'm not sure though. I've always had a--how can I put this--complete fear and disgust for the chiropractic profession. Spines gross me out. And the idea of someone "adjusting" my spine makes me want to puke. But then, this pain is getting old and I've already got more than enough pain to look forward to in my near future.
Complain, complain, complain. Am I fun or what? It's hard to be interesting when you are giant and uncomfortable and unable to sleep. I'm sure I'll be much more entertaining when I've got a screaming, puking, poop machine keeping me up all night.
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2 comments:
...but later, when he's old enough to understand, you can point out all the pain and suffering he has caused. He's gonna owe you BIG TIME!
Fair enough. I should start keeping a log--wouldn't want to miss any vengeance opportunities.
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