As my 30th birthday looms on the horizon, I’m beginning to feel like I am no longer a child. It’s funny – this feeling is NOT stemming from this birthday milestone, or the fact that I am now a parent, or even that the idea of a good night includes a glass of wine at home and being in bed by 10 PM. This feeling stems from a recent debilitating episode of getting dressed one morning.
As I was pulling on my pants something in my back snapped. “Awch. Oh god, I can’t stand up. Is that the baby waking up?” As I massaged my lower back and hobbled into the baby’s room, I felt like an adult. When I called my husband, 6 hours later in tears because I could no longer stand up and hold the baby, I felt like an adult. Two weeks later as I made my 7th appointment at the chiropractor, I felt like an adult.
I’ve never before had back problems. Sure it was sore towards the end of my pregnancy – but that was to be expected – I had a HUGE belly in front of me. But this time my back was so strained I was forced to crawl on the floor. As an indication of my debilitated state I actually called my mother and begged her to be on the next flight to Connecticut to help me (those of you who know me understand that this is a big deal because I HATE asking for help).
When it all boils down – I realize that I’m not old (but I’m not young anymore either) and that my back problems stemmed from stupidity and not fraility. The day before my incident I carried my 20 pound son in a baby bjorn, a 20 pound bag of cat food, 3 gallons of milk, 5 pounds of chicken, and 5 pounds of walnuts (gotta love Costco) up the stairs from the garage and into my apartment all at the same time.
So, my back went snap; my spirit went crackle; and the bubble of youth went pop.