*F-bomb coming…for the record I fucking hate that term, but whatever, thought I should warn you.

I am coping with something I don’t know how to do, struggling to disprove what is fast becoming reality, and all I can say is, “This really fucking blows.” I am 32 weeks pregnant and for almost the first time in my life I feel unable to do things. I cannot bend over, can’t shave my legs or fasten the ankle straps of my fierce patent leather pumps.

I am unable to participate in the painting of the kitchen, powerless to do anything with the heavy unwieldy boxes blocking parts of the kitchen. I am worthless at bath time, unable to reach the girls in the tub and too uncomfortable to sit on the floor for very long.

I can’t traverse the expanse beyond any of our doors on account of the ice. I have to wait for Sean to pull the car out of the garage so I can teeter down the stairs and stand awkwardly while I wait for him to pull the car back in, hop out and help me into the car.

This morning I was doing the one thing I can still do really wall. I had snuggled myself in next to Avery in her wee toddler bed, she was rubbing her nose against mine and patting my back. I smiled and kissed her nose as her eyelids began to move slower, each blink lasting longer in the closed position than the open.

“I love you, sweetie,” I whispered as I started to get up. Then all hell broke loose. The spot on my back, just southwest of my tail bone exploded. This wasn’t the twinge of pain that accompanies me throughout my days. No, this was a big, motherfucking sledgehammer knocking me down and making me lurch explosively into a classic movie star, back arching death flop.

“Bwwaahhhh-god!” I screamed, the guttural sound slamming against the pale blue walls of the girls room and leaving both girls white faced and wide eyed.

“S’ok,” I muttered to myself as I reclined and attempted to start again from a different position. As I tried to move my body using the momentum of one shoulder and leg the pain came back. The lasers of pain shot from the same spot, pulling me back while the agony raced beyond my back and seemed to be clutching me, gnarly, grizzled hands piercing my ears and a chain pulling the base of my skull back toward my tailbone.

“What the f-aaaw…kkk, damnit!”

“Mama! Mom, why are you making that sound in your body?” Briar called from across the room.

Avery was looking at me, unsure whether to shrink away from me in an act of self-preservation or grab me in a half nelson to yank me back in bed. I shook my head, trying to move again. “I’m ok girls, just hurting. In. My. Back.”

I continued my pathetic Fosse-esque crawl and lurch, misguided jazz hand type movements punctuated my sobs as I tried to shake away my caving to the pain. My knee caps raged as I pounded across the hardwood, a controlled fall designed solely to protect my face from meeting oak. By the time I made it to the chair, I was sure that the leverage of the taller furniture would allow me to achieve an upright position.

I placed my hands on the chair and took deep breaths while Avery murmured, “Mama, hu-ht, mama, hu-ht, n’crying” and Briar hushed me with, “Mama, you’re ok.” I lifted one knee and bent my elbows and as the white hot flames of agony reignited in y back my face smashed into the chair.

“Aaaaah! I can’t. SEAN!” His response was immediate, “What? Man, babe, are you ok?” followed by the sound of his feet on the stairs.


“What is it?” He asked as he hit the top of the stairs.

“I can’t. I can’t get up.”

He rushed to me, a look of horror on his face. “Then why don’t you not. Get up. Just stay there.” He knelt down massaging the spot his fingers know so well. The massages until now had been to feel better, not to function. I was scared and pissed. Really pissed. He settled the girls back in their beds and took me downstairs to the couch and heating pad.

“Just be still. Rest.”

I tried, the pain faded, but a hum seemed to be running from my hips to my knees. Each time I tried to get up I got a big, “Oh no you don’t,” from Sean and my body. My friend Deb came over and played with the girls, Sean painted and I tried not to spend the day in a full blown pout. I don’t think I did a very good job.

I know I shouldn’t be so obnoxious, but “I can’t,” just isn’t me. And I know, for myself and for this little person, I need to say, “I can’t,” and “I shouldn’t.” I will slow down, but damnit, I am in a piss-poor mood thinking about 8 weeks of slowing down. And cue kick from within my belly to really make me feel like a heel.

Please excuse me, I have a couch to dent.