Friday at work, I completed a safety seminar that taught me all about how to stay safe. It's really very easy, you just need to THINK "What's the worse thing that could happen?" before you start any new task, and then, adjust your behavior accordingly.
After work, I was driving home. And on that drive home, I came to a stoplight and my mind was swirling with the Henry preschool situation and I suddenly felt compelled to talk with my husband about the fact that Henry had never been in preschool before and he is starting this program mid-stream and surely all the other kids are well established in the "routine" of the class. My sweet little Henry. He has really enjoyed going to school, putting on his backpack - just like the big kids - and traipsing out the door three mornings a week.
For the five days that he was a bonafide preschool student, he came home with adorable arts and crafts projects - so obviously he was sitting still long enough to be creative. Yes, there is undoubtedly more to this that we'll be researching, but it was very difficult to stop myself from condemning the troglodytes that kicked out MY baby.
It had been a long day and I was frustrated and not thinking clearly. And when I couldn't easily reach my cell phone in my bag behind me, that I specifically place there so I'm never tempted to talk on the phone while driving, I leaned over the seat and lifted my computer bag, up and OVER the seat with one hand.
Why did I do this? Because I'm strong! I've run a marathon and I've completed a few triathlons and I've lugged children all over the continent. What's the worst thing that could happen?
Maybe the demise of my entire musculoskeletal structure?
That thought never once crossed my mind.
It wasn't until I got home and couldn't tilt my head back to drink a beer (hence the reason I had to sip it out of a straw), I realized if you don't do any form of exercise for ... a lot of months ... you aren't as strong as you might think you are and thereby, you shouldn't attempt to lift a computer bag OVER a seat. And also?
I AM GOING TO DIE.
Crawling in to bed, hardly able to move my arms without jolts of electricity shooting through me, I hoped that I'd be feeling better in the morning. When I woke up at 2 AM, I "mumbled" a word or two that shocked Charlie out of a sound sleep and made him think I was being eaten alive. Today, after being unable to move for the past three days, I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with a severe muscle strain and possible pinched nerve. Several prescriptions were written including one for an adorable little pill that is allowing me to write this post.
Charlie has been a champ, strategically placing heating pads, administering medication and convincing me that I will, indeed, live to see my fortieth birthday. Which, after the year I've had, I think this is a legitimate worry. I've been encouraging people to not stand too close for fear that a meteor will fall out of the sky and crush us, both.