Someone shoot me (with some demerol!). The bad back is back, he's muscled his way in, shoving good back to the side. He never calls first, just shows up in the middle of the night. Ugh. The good thing about having a bad-back-attack is no housework! The bad? Having a 17lb 4 month old to carry around.
I truly believe my enormous breasts are the cause of all my back misery. In fact, I can pretty much blame them for everything. Sorry, I can't learn golf, my boobs will get in the way (didn't anyone see Jessica Simpson try at this?). Sorry, I can't go jogging with you, my boobs will get in the way (and probably knock me out). Sorry, I can't breastfeed my child, my boobs will get in the way.
Okay, that last one was sad. I tried so hard to breastfeed, but when you're holding a newborn in a football position and you are all hunched over like Quasimodo something is going to give. And that something is my back. Believe me, I tried to see through the pain. But it wasn't happening folks. And do you think I got any sympathy from the Nazi's at Le Leche League? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I think they would have forced me to continue even if blood was squirting out my ears, eyes, and mouth. No thank you kind ladies, I think I'll try formula (gasp).
And you know what? My baby is still alive and doing fine and my back is almost back to normal. Except for days like today. Today it again feels like I'm morphing into the Hunchback. Now all I need is a bell tower.