A late night meeting.

I’ve been experiencing a crippling muscular pain in my lower back (ahem… very lower back) for a few days now. It just seems to get worse. I sit and stand up, it sharpens. I stand and sit down, it sticks into me.

Yesterday I went to the doctor (how many times have I seen doctors in the last half year?) who said that lying down and sitting are not going to help; constant movement is what I need (and some pain killers). Hmm… I sit at a computer job all day and I’m not a fan of medication even when I’m not pregnant.

All this is reminding me of a childhood/teenagerhood sprinkled with these half-joking words from my mother: “I carried you for nine months!!!” (of course, I’m leaving out the juicy bits).

Last night, as I was lying in bed, not sleeping and trying to find a position that would not result in a knife-like feeling for the lower half of my body, I rested my hands on my belly as a gesture of peace towards this unborn child. No resentment here, kid. This is all for you. Unless one day you get your tongue pierced like your mama did.

And then I felt a pop…

And a poke…

And another one…

So as I couldn’t sleep from the stabbing back pain, and my husband couldn’t sleep from my stabbing restlessness, we lay awake entertaining ourselves with the thought…

…our baby wasn’t sleeping either.