I have been in a lot more pain today than usual. Twice I have had to fight back tears. And twice, he was there to hold my hand, to give a hug. He even suggested calling to see if we could have surgery earlier – and put me in a hotel until we can get into the new place.
He asked me in the car on the way home if I would rather be in labor every day than feel like this. Yes, without question, this is more difficult than my labor. In large part I think that is true because I knew labor would END. This seems to be getting worse again and 15 days from the end doesn’t yet feel like it is in sight.
I had two meetings away from my office today. I used the walker all day, but I’m guessing it was just too much walking to trudge across campus and back twice. It is hurting today like it did when the little guy was about two weeks old. It is tender to the touch across the front of my pelvis and at my right-side lower back, burning in the front from my left hip to my right hip, throbbing at the middle of my pubic bone and spiking worse at both hips, the middle and my right SI joint area randomly, even when I’m not moving. I took some extra strength tylenol after the second meeting. I never noticed a different. I guess that makes sense because my injury isn’t an inflammation. It’s not a bruise or a cut. It’s separated bones and torn ligaments.
Enough of that. I’ll focus now on the good.
My husband is remarkable. Truly. Consider this: Every day he gets the baby up and out of bed by 7 a.m. so I can have more time in a hot shower. He makes our breakfast, packs our lunch and feeds the baby his oat cereal so I can get ready without rushing (rushing has led me to think I’m “normal” and do things that hurt).
He carries the baby and any extra things downstairs when we leave the house so I don’t have to negotiate additional weight. (I just take my purse and the lunch bags, usually.) He carries the baby into daycare. He drops me off close to my office door so I can limit my walking.
After work, he picks me up at the same door. He carries the baby to the car and gets him in his seat. He gets the baby and any extra stuff up the stairs. He cooks dinner while I breastfeed the baby while resting on the couch. He rinses the little guy’s cloth diapers because it hurts to much for me to bend over to run the sprayer. He loads the dishwasher, or empties it or does the laundry while I rest.
He does all of that. Every single day. And most of the time he does it happily. HAPPILY. Even though we haven’t had a normal life as a couple in six and a half months. REMARKABLE.
All I have to do is get myself ready for work, get down the stairs and into the car, get into the daycare, put the baby’s milk in the fridge and fill out his daily record, give him a hug and pass him over to his teacher, get myself back to the car, from the car to my desk, to the corner at the end of the day and back up the stairs.
If it has been a good day I can pick up the front room, fold and/or put away laundry, help load the dishwasher or some other chore. But usually it’s not easy so he tells me to sit down. Usually I put the baby to bed (between 8 and 8:30 p.m.) and I always have to get up (at least once, sometimes twice) during the night to pump breast milk and get the little guys lunch box ready. That’s my day.
Now, with the move, he’s got even more on his shoulders. Not to mention his job is about to go from regular hours to in season hours – that means 9 to 5 plus nights and weekends to cover games.
Our place is messier than either of us would like. But I feel like we live in triage mode.
In spite of all that stress, he encourages me everyday and reminds me that I am strong. Sometimes he calls me his hero. But he is mine. He is the reason I can get myself out of bed in the morning because I know he’s got my back.