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Gimpy but Lucky - Elizabeth Unexplained
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greyautumnrain
greyautumnrain
Gimpy but Lucky
This past weekend has been a reminder that I am a very lucky woman, and much as it might be tempting at times to bitch and complain about my current catalog of aches, pains and fatigue, I am fully aware that instead I should be thanking my lucky stars.


As my previous post should suggest to you, I am an idiot and managed to pull a muscle in my butt on Friday night. Jomkwan has become more willing to take Margaret out in cold weather, but she’s still not as reckless as I am about it. When I got home on Friday my Dear Leader was clearly itching to get out of the house. Initially I resisted, but resistance was clearly futile. “Hat,” was the first demand, and Dear Leader is clearly a brilliant tactician because I made her the hat, I’m unreasonably pleased with the fact that actively loves it, and I can not resist giving it to her when she asks for it. “Enh,” was the next demand, the word coat not having made it into her lexicon yet, but it was clear from the pointing what she wanted. Oh, alright, but we are not going out. Then she went and brought my boots to me, with an enthusiastic cry of “Shoes!” What can I say, five minutes later we were outside. We couldn’t actually leave the house because I was “cooking”* that night, meaning that the delivery guy from Red Bones was expected at some point. Happily Margaret was willing to stay more or less in front of our house, especially once she warmed up to the idea of playing on all the white stuff. Of course the white stuff was snow that had been topped by a “wintry mix” of precipitation that had since frozen solid, so it was hard and slippery. I made an ill-advised lunge for her when she slipped one time, and one of the overstressed muscles at the back of my left hip was the casualty. To make matters worse, when the Red Bones guys finally did come after we’d gone back in they’d forgotten the pulled pork. (This is a big no-no. Dear Leader has decreed that a few major religions have it exactly backwards and in fact the only meat fit for human consumption comes from the pig.) They corrected their mistake as soon as they could, but this made for an extra trip from the third floor to the first floor, and as has since become clear the absolute worst thing for my injured rump is taking stairs, especially when carrying Margaret at the same time.

Margaret has repeatedly demonstrated her ability to roll with the punches this past weekend. It was a timely reminder that we have in fact been blessed with a very easy child and we should not take that for granted. Margaret did not take kindly to my sudden refusal to carry her up and down stairs after the first few post-injury trips that it took me to figure out that I was making things worse by doing so. On the other hand, while verbal explanations didn’t move her, seeing me ascend on all fours and descend on my backside seem to have made her realize that I am not just being difficult and she is much more accepting of the situation (though obviously still not happy about it). Margaret also let us get away with completely messing with her sleep schedule. We took her out to watch a dance competition Saturday night. We arrived around 8pm and stayed until midnight, and Margaret was reasonably well-behaved the entire time. Sadly I missed out on the general dancing at the competition on account of my new waddle-limp method of locomotion, but I still had a good time, and Warren got to dance with Margaret in his arms. She fell asleep right before the finals, but it was extremely late for her. Not only did she go to bed without incident once we got home, after a brief bottle at her normal wake-up time of 7:30 she rewarded our irresponsible parenting by going back to sleep until 10:15. I should keep her out until midnight more often, I haven’t slept that well in weeks. Once we were all up and dressed we headed over to chez treptoplax and jaedian where we spent the entire afternoon. It was lovely. I spent nearly the entire time in their most comfy chair having adult conversation while their three kids entertained Dear Leader. I could almost walk normally at the end of it, though alas, there was no avoiding stairs once we were home and I am back to waddle-limp. Margaret was nap-free all on Sunday and fell asleep just as we were hitting the interstate on the way home. She stayed asleep once we were home, and I was sure that there would probably be hell to pay around 3 AM, but no. She woke with a nightmare at around 11:30, took a bottle once she’d calmed down a bit, and happily went to bed with me and stayed there until 7:30 when she awoke, had a bottle in bed, and proceeded to be perfectly delightful, snuggling me in bed for twenty minutes before politely requesting dance videos. In theory screwing with a toddler’s sleep schedule like this should be a disaster, but I guess I was right to not waste tons of money on parenting books, at least for our first child.

Warren has been amassing good karma at a vastly accelerated rate the past few weeks. He had been getting up extra early so that I could get into the gym every day because that helps with a lot of the pregnancy discomfort. This past weekend he has done a lot of fetching and carrying for me so that I could avoid the stairs as much as possible. At this point I think that going back to the gym before the baby is born is out of the question. Even with all the stair avoidance it became abundantly clear to me as I was crossing the parking lot at work this morning that even just walking while supporting this huge belly is putting enough strain on the injured muscle that it won’t heal before the belly goes away. All I can do now is hope that the little boy heeds my tales of the vast amounts of leg room available outside the womb and makes an appearance real soon now. He’s been hiccupping in there for over a week, which means he’s been doing practice breathing, so I’m hoping that means his lungs are ready for the real deal. I’m hoping to see him this week, but I know that just because Margaret was a week early I shouldn’t count on the same timing the second time around.


*I cook using the telephone. In theory I can use a stove or oven, but one of the artifacts of having been a latch-key kid whose mother worked the 4pm to midnight shift at the airport is that I now despise preparing dinner. Warren cooks most nights, and if he’s going to be home too late for him to cook ordering food for delivery results is a better meal and way less stress.
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Comments
enugent From: enugent Date: January 26th, 2010 04:51 am (UTC) (Link)
I'm sorry you're feeling so awful. My mother used to tell me that labor doesn't start until you have convinced yourself that you're going to be pregnant forever, in your own personal hell. Never having been allowed to go into labor on my own, I don't know if she's right.

What did Margaret think of the dance competition?
psychohist From: psychohist Date: January 26th, 2010 05:22 am (UTC) (Link)
Margaret seemed to like the competition. There were lots of stairs for her to climb, both in the ballroom and in the rest of the hotel, she enjoyed a few dances with me, and she enjoyed wandering around the dance floor to the music during the rest of the general dancing, though daddy was a bit of a spoilsport.

Maybe I'm projecting, but she seemed to like Soale and Cerasoli's viennese waltz but was bored with their tango and quickstep to latin music.

I was hoping she'd be more interested in spectating, but she may be somewhat spoiled by videos of Yankee and Blackpool.
From: llennhoff Date: January 26th, 2010 12:06 pm (UTC) (Link)
I was “cooking”* that night, meaning that the delivery guy from Red Bones was expected at some point
I am so homesick right now, but in a good way.
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