Thursday, March 7, 2013

There Was a Crooked Mom

She had a crooked back.


Frozen peas and my chiropractor are my BFFs right now.  Picture the old witch from Hansel & Gretel, hunch-backed, dragging a bum right leg, while sporting the just-sucked-a-lemon grimace on my face and you've pretty much nailed it.  I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.  I think Tiny Dancer did this to me when she insisted that I carry her, uphill, in those God-forsaken impractical shoes, to the courthouse yesterday.  I can't be sure, though, since it didn't hurt until this morning.  When I laid down on my chiropractor's table and she began working on my back, I had flashbacks to Christmas Eve of 2006, when Roadie fooled me in the cruelest way a soon-to-be newborn can trick his epidural-dependent mother.  All day, I had experienced Braxton-Hicks contractions - 10 minutes apart, 3 hours apart, 30 minutes apart, 1 hour apart, lasting 90 seconds, lasting 30 seconds, lasting 60 seconds.  After 3 pregnancies, I figured I knew what I was experiencing since Roadie wasn't due for another week or perhaps I was desperate for that cheesesteak and in slight denial...?   At 1 a.m., the unmistakable gush erased any delusions and heralded the inevitable Christmas surprise - Roadie was on his way with complete disregard of his pastor father's Christmas Eve service duties!  We made it to the hospital at 4 a.m. and at 4:45 a.m. my OB informed my freshly suited anesthesiologist that he could go back to sleep.  There was no time to do anything other than shoot this baby out au natural.  That pain...there are no words.  Guitar Hero said it was frightening.  Two calm and, well, calm deliveries courtesy of my unapologetic need for an epidural left him ill-equipped for the new, pain-induced Kim.  Normally, I have an extremely high pain threshold.  When I was in labor with Bean, the OB on call said she was certain she'd be sending me home after a quick check because I spoke so calmly to her on the phone.  She couldn't believe that I was far enough along or in as much pain as I expressed, matter-of-factly.  I was 5 cm dilated by the time I got to the hospital with Bean.  With Roadie, I shrieked like a woman being torn in half.  The pain was not forgettable, it was excruciating and unexpected and felt like someone was turning me inside out using the jaws of life.  Guitar Hero was in shock and perhaps slightly traumatized.  So, when I told him that I compared the pain of today's adjustment to the pain of delivering my little Christmas Eve Torpedo (as Roadie is affectionately dubbed), including uncontrollable, audible shouts of pain, Guitar Hero raised both eyebrows, headed back to the kitchen and began loading the dishwasher without further comment.  That, my friends, is a good man.

BTW - I'll be buying a pair of these tomorrow...