Back

I have this thing where I don't want to sound like a broken record, or a hypochondriac...or both. So I try and not talk about it when I'm in pain, physically. But I haven't been able to hold back lately, it's just too hard and it just hurts too damn much. I've been inflicted what millions of people suffer through, at varying intensitites, every single day. I have a bad friggin' back.

It's the little things, really. Sitting on the can. Laughing. Picking up one the kiddos. Sneezing makes me almost cry. Rolling over in bed? Knives. Sitting. Sitting! I can't even sit. A three hour drive to New Hampshire had me sweating bullets until I rememberd that I had some Percocet left over from the c-section...hollah! Back pain? What back pain? Who's waving at me from the woods and why does he have on a green Dr. Seuss hat and how come I feel like kind of throwing up?

So, after 5 weeks of chiropractic adjustments and an MRI scheduled for next week, I'm actually feeling better. But the worst part of all of it was the fear. Am I going to feel like this forever? Is this my life from now on? Will my only form of exercise be walking? Will I be able to use my beautiful new elliptical machine gathering dust in my living room? Will I be one of 'those people'? You know, the one who is known for her back pain. Will it be what I talk about because the pain is such a part of my life that it feels weird not to? Will I purposely avoid talking about it because I don't want to bore people but secretly wish people knew really REALLY how much it fucked up my life?

So, I'm trying to chill out a little bit. I'm trying to relax and remember to take inventory of how healthy I really am. To appreciate how good and strong and able I am. To remember that I've had two children in two years and that my body is amazing. To be aware of it more often instead of lashing out all the time about my no good back and my extra baby weight and my hormonal acne and all the other crap that I complain about (at least to myself). Maybe that's why my body sends me these messages. Knock it off, appreciate what you have. You have a lot more than others do. Go take a walk.

And be grateful.

Hair

I know. Hair? What the hell. It just so happens to be a thing in my life right now. Hair. Gobs and gobs of it. In my shower drain. On every piece of flooring in my home. On all of my clothing. In my toddler's fingertips as she holds it up to me and says...'ditty'. In my infants mouth. In every broom pan I sweep into, there it is. I'm really not sure if it's hormonal or the normal changing of the follicle or whatever, but it's really starting to get annoying. I realized just yesterday, that hair has always been a real pain in the neck.

It's true. I have 'good hair' in the sense that it's thick and there is lots and lots of it (all thanks to genetics), and I've had some great hair cuts in my lifetime. But I don't know if I've had a really fair relationship with hair; I always seems a bit pissed about it. A bad cut, a spot of dry scalp, the way it falls out of my ponytail when I'm starting to exercise, so much that I really must stop and re-pony. The bang or no-bang discussion, or when banging, a snip too short which makes me look like I'm 8, or the quasi-bang, when you SPECIFICALLY ask for no-bangs (i.e., don't frigging touch them please) and they end up getting trimmed to JUST the length where they aren't really bangs, but they won't fit in the ponytail. This of course results in ridiculous overuse of the hair clip, whether it's the cute kind with the little butterfly or the Goody brown ones that held your head together on prom night.

I have a hairdresser whom I 'love' in that she's done my hair for years. She KNOWS my hair, you know? She knows to tread lightly on the bangs and that I need some help in the body department (i.e., I need layers and lots of thinning out). BUT, each and every time I get a snip, I go home aggravated. And I stay aggravated for about 3 days until I get over myself, over my hair, and back on to things that really matter (but I dare you to find a woman who says that the bang/no bang decision is one to be taken lightly). My husband is perpetually perplexed.

"Why don't you go to someone else? You always seem to not like your hair."

"Well, I could....but Margaret totally knows my hair. And she gives me a great deal." (this I toss out to end the conversation because he's a penurious fellow).

"I know but it just seems that you never like your hair when you come home. I mean I think it looks great, but maybe it's time to find a new stylist." Note: he did NOT, would not, would not EVER use the term stylist. I'm adding this as my own embellishment because I fear the word 'haircutter' would kill the overall gestalt of the conversation.

And here is where it gets funny.

"I know, but I just feel kind of bad, you know, going to someone else."

YES! It's the truth. I don't want to cheat on Margaret. I don't want her to see me in 6 months and realize that I've been with someone else. She'll know, too. They always know!

"You have some new layers in here. I thought we were just growing it out..."

"Um...yeah. I, um...got a trim. Because I was in New Hampshire. And it was really shaggy and it was in my face and everything." And the haircutters came out of the deep dark woods, threw a black sheet over my head and clipped me against my will. I'm not sure why I needed to toss New Hampshire in the mix, but maybe she won't be as hurt then. When I really got it cut in the next town over.

"Huh."
And then you know what comes next.
"Wow, they really did a number on your hair."
Dammit! It's bad enough that you feel like crap for cheating, now they have to rub it in your face that your hair is now a hot mess and that really, they'll need to do some serious 'reshaping' to save it.

And so it goes. After you apologize and baaaah like a sheep for 20 minutes, it's all back to normal. No, sorry...after you apologize, baaah like a sheep and spend $42 on a guilt purchase of a new shampoo and conditioner, it's all back to normal.

After a few days, when your hair starts to feel like it's yours again, you fall back into the routine. You figure out how to work with it, what to put in it, and most importantly, where the ponytail sits. Just right.