This last week has been interesting. Along with a Polar Project diorama to put finishing touches on (read: send child to bed and make diorama look more presentable because other parents are carving penguins out of blocks of ice), and preparations for a trip to New York to contend with, I woke up a few days ago and my back was, well, seriously fucked up.
If you have a touchy back, you know what that means. It’s the whatthehelljusthappenedholyJesus feeling of rolling out of bed in the morning and finding yourself hunched over like an old bewhiskered blue haired octogenarian.
I did my usual Oh, hell NO back stretches and realized that this was no small kink. Essentially my butt cheek had clenched up like a hermit crab in its shell (or a very cold testicle) and was not giving up its spastic hold. Every movement sent blazing pain down my leg.
So I spent the better part of this week flat on my back trying to coax my butt cheek to chill the hell out, popping Prednisone and trying to keep the 2-year-old out of the fish tank.
To date Theo has thrown in two pencils, a pen, a Lightning McQueen Matchbox car, the fish net and a closed container of fish food. Surprisingly (and sadly, because I am so done with the fish tank) all of the fish have survived the maelstrom of attention.
Knowing that my range of motion is severely limited, the 2 year-old decided that this would be a good week to act like a terrorist. This includes but is not limited to spending a lot of time on top of the kitchen table throwing things while yelling at the top of his lungs, “This is AWESOME!”
So, I have mastered how to pick stuff up with my feet and thought I would share my technique with you via a video. Please excuse my gnarly toes. And unshaven legs. And strangely short baby toe.
Remember that you can always enlist the bad toddler to help retrieve your narcotics. Just make sure the medication is in childproof packaging.