Ice packs, Ibuprofen, back to bed.

For the last four weeks, while I recovered from my C-section, my doctor warned me not to carry anything “heavier than the baby.” (This is a relative measurement, of course, because Lydia is gaining roughly a pound a week: at birth, she weighed eight pounds even. Today she’s pushing twelve.)

Sure that the doctor advised this with good reason, I followed instructions dutifully until Wednesday, when I carried the baby out to the car and back in her car seat. Later that night, I woke us all up and kept us all up for hours because my back hurt in a very dramatic fashion that involved “upper abdominal pain” and “lateral flank pain” and nausea and lots of lolling about on the bathroom floor. Like I said: dramatic.

As a result, I spent the better part of yesterday lolling about in bed with lots of pillows and Ibuprofen and bottles of water, with a hungry, snuggly baby tucked in at my side, recuperating from what my nurse parents initially suspected was possibly a kidney stone. My parents were merciful enough to come up and change diapers and bring milkshakes and cuddle Lydia while I got some rest, and later, they took me to the doctor, who said, not “kidney stone” (thank God) but “muscle spasms.”

So, it’s more Ibuprofen, more rest and now: ice packs. And with that, I’m headed back to bed.


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