I wanted to post quickly and tell you all two very different things:
1. We picked up Nico yesterday at her new and improved daycare (which is really a Child Development Center, which makes it really much better than the place she was at before, which Marta took to calling a Child Storage Facility) and one of the women there, Corina, smiled at us and said, “She doing so much better! Today she shot up to be our best.”
Best at what, you ask? Best at not crying. Yes, Nico was a not-crying superstar yesterday in her Child Development Center and I am suspiciously proud of that.
2. The day before Nico became the star non-crier in her Child Development Center, I woke up early in the morning to try to write this research paper I still haven’t written. I made my traditional yogurt with granola and fruit breakfast and then sat down at my desk chair and then, crunch-snap-squeez, something very odd happened to my back–or rather inside my back.
It felt like someone had up and decided to hang a hanger with a heavy coat on it to one of my ribs, one of the upper left ones. I tried to take it like a momma, but eventually being totally freaked out got the better of me and I hobbled over to the bed where Marta and Nico (a new approach to her night crying: more on this another post) were sleeping and said, “Marta, Marta….it hurts!” and then dissolved into a puddle of tears.
Two hours later I was visiting the chiropractor for the first time in my life. She was a sumo-wrestler of a woman with a thick West Texas accent and raccoon eye-linered eyes. She told me that my ribs had “pushed out.” As if to clarify what she meant, she then showed me a picture of ribs and the rib-nerve system and said sometimes they can push in or to the side but that mine had “pushed out.” She then put me on the table and cracked me a dozen or so ways using her arms and the heft of her sumo-wreslter body until she had declared my small frame (picture the deer in the headlight eyes) sufficiently “realigned.”
I told her I that I had started carrying Nico in our front carrier pack in a different way–with Nico facing out to see the world (see exhibit A below)–and that this seemed to be putting some strain on my back. She said yes, it could, and then asked what kind of birth I had. I stammered and said, “Well I didn’t have her, my lesbian partner did.” I didn’t need to add the lesbian part, obviously, but I find myself here, in West Texas, over-explaining my queerness. Constantly. And sometimes it’s necessary. A woman to whom Marta once explained that she had a female partner then asked her “So did you make the baby together?”
My chiropractor also had similar levels of delusion. After stammering some herself at my lesbian partner admission–I think she was ready to link my back problems to a bad birth and then didn’t know how to recuperate–she said, “Breastfeeding can also be hard on the back, too. How do you feed her?”
Despite her faulty biology knowledge, my chiropractor appears to be good at her profession. I was still in pain when I left, but that pain gradually subsided. Yesterday I woke up a little sore, as she had said I would be, but today I feel completely back to normal–if only a little spooked. Having a child, you really do put your body in strange positions (imagine a crying baby you are trying to sooth from the passenger’s seat of a mini-mini van) and find yourself carrying adorable but awkward extra weight while doing other tasks (child-rearing drives you to domestic multi-tasking) neither of which is great for the ol back.
I have promised myself that I will start doing yoga again. Just as soon as I finish that research paper.