I woke up yesterday feeling pretty darn sorry for myself. At 3:30 in the morning I was in horrible pain from my stupid hip (some Googling plus advice from my cousin who is married to a doctor leads us to believe I’m not experiencing sciatica after all, more likely that my Sacroiliac joint is out of whack. Ow.)
Bed is the most uncomfortable place to be right now, so I just decided to get up and do some yoga stretches in my hallway for a while. The stretches feel great while I’m doing them, but really don’t keep the pain away at all. By 5 a.m. I was feeling emotional and tired and finally decided that it was time to bite the bullet and take some Tylenol.
Tylenol is supposed to be the one pain medicine that is safe to take during pregnancy, as they say it doesn’t cross the placenta. Even still, I had been reluctant to take any medicine during my pregnancy, and started to feel like a failure that I made it this far and was finally breaking down. Add that to no sleep, crazy hormones and no rational, and you get one teary-eyed, red-nosed waddling woman making her way slooooowly down the aisles at the 24-hour CVS at 5:27 a.m. in search of relief.
I found what I needed and headed to the counter, only to find the cashier that is alway, ALWAYS, in a bad mood and super rude. I prepared for a terse exchange, when he totally surprised me.
“When is your baby due?” he asked, smiling. I told him just about two and a half weeks and he literally clapped his hands and wished me luck. He then looked at my purchases (Tylenol, hot water bottle) and asked if I was feeling OK.
And here’s where I felt like an ass. Because I’m going on and on complaining about having leg and hip pain, and here’s this guy — a guy who needs to use crutches and sit in a special chair his entire life because of what I can only assume is a very painful and debilitating disease — happy as a clam and offering me sympathy as I quietly admit that I’m buying things to relieve my leg pain. From having a baby. A baby I’m so fortunate to be carrying. So, yeah. Universe reality check, take one.
I thanked him and started to leave, feeling a little ashamed, and when I stepped out the door and began waddling to the car…the sky opened up and rained on me. Hard. And just as a finally climbed into the car and shut the door…
…the rain completely stopped.
A two-minute downpour just for me.
I get it, Universe. You win. Lesson learned.
I’ll admit it. I came home and cried into Michael’s chest as I relayed the story and took the stupid Tylenol. Then I curled up on the couch with the hot water bottle against my lower back and fell asleep for a blessed two hours. When I awoke, the pain was manageable — not gone, but better — and I was able to do some things around the house that had gone to the wayside.
In a short matter of time (days? weeks?), I’m going to give birth. I’m going to have a son. The memory of this pain will be far away and I will have much more important things to think about than woe is me.
Perspective. I needed some.