Linette dreamed the other night that our baby was just a head and that it could only move either six inches to the left or six inches to the right.
It was like a chess piece.
While we’re on the subject of limited movement, my back still isn’t working like it used to. I should probably go to the doctor, but I know there’s nothing that that they can do. So, I just shuffle around all day, bitching about how much pain I’m in and occasionally leaning over and stretching out my back so that the disks aren’t all jammed up against one another like Cubans on a raft. (The other day, I was leaning over my desk, groaning, with my ass up in the air, when I caught a glimpse of a co-worker covering her eyes with her hand and running from the doorway to my office.)
Last night, on the way back home from Cincinnati, we stopped by Linette’s parents’ house. Her mom saw me grimace in pain and insisted that I use one of Linette’s dad’s oversized medicated bandage kind of things. I kept telling her that I didn’t want it, but she either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. I took my eyes off of her for a second and the next thing I knew, she was standing there in front of me, peeling the sticky backing off of this under-the-counter medicated pad from Asia. I kept saying, “No,” but she told me to lift my shirt and lean over. By the time I gave in, Linette was there, helping her. I was protesting, her mom was asking whether or not I had a lot of hair growing at the base of my spine, and Linette was tugging my pants down. I think it was at that point that I left my body.
For a moment, it was like I was looking on from someplace else, someplace safe.
As much as I love my mother-in-law, I didn’t relish the idea of sharing the crack of my ass with her, hair or not. I was mortified, but it was short-lived. They slapped this gooey piece of wallpaper-like stuff against my spine, pressed it down and then pushed me onto the couch.
Apparently, I got lucky. They’d decided to give me the “cool ranch” version and not the “hot-n-spicy” one. I wouldn’t experience that until the next morning, when Linette plastered it on me and I felt the pain of what felt like 20 Bic lighters against the small of my back. If any ass hair were left after the first pad was torn off, it would have been singed off by this one.
Somewhere, there’s a photo of me writhing around in pain as I’m trying to rip the pad from my blubbery ass, but I’m not going to share it. (Perhaps some day when I have the “members only” section set up.)
