Saturday morning I woke up to blaring back pain.
Back pain so intense that I literally wept as I pried myself out of bed.
One leg over the side. OUCH! Then the other leg. OUCH! Pull myself up to sitting. OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! Ever-so-slowly I ease to standing. OUCHIEMCFREAKINGMOTHERBLASTER!
And so my weekend goes right down the toilet. Instead of Nordstrom and Starbucks it’s Heating Pad and Advil. On my Big Fat List of To-Do’s I got zero done.
Now, not to get all husband-bashing here, but the fact is that whenever I have a crisis of health- like for example I get swine flu or Lyme disease or strange and suspicious lumps- I never really feel that Jay is quite supportive enough.
It just seems like he has this air of skepticism about him. Here I am, MOANING and WRITHING in agony, and he’s looking at me rather like he thinks I’m making it all up. Or being OVERLY DRAMATIC.
And you and I both know that I am NEVER overly dramatic.
Ok so maybe TECHNICALLY I don’t have to yell “OUCH” every time it hurts. Which is frequently. Which means I’m yelling OUCH a lot. But I guess deep down I feel that if I’m suffering, the ones I love should suffer with me. I’m pretty sure that was somewhere in the marriage vows.
And as I’m writing this my husband who I was just complaining about comes down and takes my boots off for me because he knows I can’t bend over without bringing down the roof with my screams of pain.
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Post from: Absolutely Bananas: Seattle mom blog
