About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Monday, December 26, 2011
I'm not sure what just happened
I think we celebrated Christmas, but I can't quite be sure. Everything after Friday afternoon is a bit blurry.
See on Friday, somewhere between my car and my office, I wrenched my back. Badly. In fact, the only way I could get comfortable at work was to stand. I sent some emails hunched over my keyboard, then decided I wasn't going to make it. I hobbled down the hall (while dragging my leg behind me) and out the door, straight to the doctor's.
(Side note: My co-workers are rallying to have me banned from the building. My water broke at work; I was pushed down the stairs at work; I have worn a thumb brace to work; sported a neck brace to work; hobbled around with a knee brace at work; slammed my toe in the door at work; and my ass has prevented me from working. If I showed up at work one day holding my head in the crook of my arm I doubt that anyone would be surprised.)
After driving to the doctor's my back felt even worse. The only way I could get comfortable in the waiting room was to kneel on a chair with my ass in the air. A nurse had to walk me down the hall. Then, while I waited for the doctor, the only way I could stop the pain from shooting down my legs was to assume the oh-so-attractive kneeling + ass in the air position again.
When the doctor came into the room, he took one look at me and promptly wrote me a prescription for muscle relaxers.
Bless his heart.
In my glazed over state, I spent the holiday weekend nodding demurely at whatever conversation was taking place. No one got on my nerves. No one!
I wasn't allowed to lift Junior or Everett or the 100-pound diaper bag or the Christmas presents. I didn't even lift the fruitcake.
I was so pliable that Chuck was even able to whisk me away to a holiday party. (The hosts were an engaged couple. She's Jewish; he's not. If their kids come out anything like their decorative bathroom towels, I think we know what religion they'll be:
So there you have it: Christmas 2011 was hazy and blurry and full of good cheer. I was physically unable to overdo it. Plus, my ass was in the air a few times.
Really, what more could you ask for from a long holiday weekend?