I’m falling apart.
That whole “geriatric pregnancy” thing? Oh, I’m feeling it!
At the 8 month mark, Sean is weighing in at a whopping 25 pounds, and he doesn’t hold on when he’s being held. That carseat? 35 pounds fully loaded. Never mind all the bags we parents carry, the pack-mules that we are. So where does that leave this loose-jointed mama? Physical therapy.
After 1 knee surgery and 3 shoulder surgeries, I feel like a pro at this P.T. game. Those stretchy pieces of rubber are my favorite exercise companions, followed by the ginormous ball. Although it was my shoulder that landed me back in the training room, my therapist sees the bigger picture – I’m completely out of alignment, so she’s working on everything. I’m grateful for her expertise, and we’ve decided to spread out my appointments in order to hold me accountable for as long a period of time as possible.
So as I leave my appointment with brightly colored tape holding me together, I tell anyone who will listen, “Be nice to your body – you only get one your whole life!” xo