Today has been a rough day.
Warning: TMI may follow.
Don't get me wrong--every day I'm pregnant has been miraculous and shiny and angels regularly fly out of my butt to sprinkle me with starshine and licorice. Yay, pregnant. We wanted to be here so bad, we cried so often about not being here, so we are really happy dammit to be here dammit yes happy!
But in the meantime, between angel-rectal interaction, I hurt. Walking, standing up, sitting down, going up stairs, putting on underwear, rolling over in bed, did I mention walking? and whenever I move, I feel like a wee tiny knife the size of a meat cleaver is stabbing me in my clitoral region. Which is just as fun as it sounds.
It comes and it goes, and some days are better than others. I talked to my doctor about it and Dr. Cutey McSporty referred me to physical therapy. I've started doing that twice a week in the therapy pool which dear heavens why did no one tell me the beautiful majesty of getting in a pool???? For that half-hour, I am pregnant without pain. The downside is the slloooow climb out of the pool, and that one step where The Belly must emerge and reacquaint itself with that pesky gravity shit. But in the meantime, I don't feel like a beached whale that will never walk again, so it's rejeuvenating.
I've also found this real angel (not one of my butt angels) who specializes in pre-natal massage, and for that french-lavendar-scented hour, my mind can wander along white sandy beaches to the tunes of Enya. The loose-limbed feeling even lasts for a couple days.
But then, inevitably, it comes back. The other teachers at school--for some odd torturous reason--get great glee in pointing out that I waddle, and in fact, they've been pointing it out since Christmas which is beyond awesome. And yes, I do waddle. That is because most days, from my boobs downward, I am a tightly wound solid muscle of pain.
It comes and it goes, this knife-to-the-hoo-ha fun. Today, though--today's been a bad day.