It' s fun to think of new ways to describe (what they tell me must be) round ligament pain at the end of a pregnancy. Last time I likened it to being kicked with a cowboy boot repeatedly. All. Day. Long. But don't forget, this boot has a steel tip, and a spike at the toe. Imagine the kicks to be gentle in the morning, relatively soft. Then, but the afternoon they become quicker in succession and more fierce with each strike. Before dinner time I can just imagine that special area where all the weight seems to lay being bruised black and blue, it's so tenderly aching with pain.
I go to bed restless looking for the best way to straddle a pillow sideways (in a very non sexual manner. unfortnuately.) to soften the aches. This routine takes about 30- 45 minutes to accomplish successfully. All the while I hope to get to start fresh tomorrow with the soft kicking and work up to that level of pain without waking up with the bruised feeling. And normally that's how it goes each day, depending on the amount of time I spend on my feet. The beauty of this being my third time is that I can appreciate that for a while, it's not nearly as bad as it's going to get in a number of weeks. With that in perspective, it's totally manageable.
Another way to describe this experience is to imagine a little person following me around all day with a little hammer and a chisel. Again, the pounding is minimal in the early hours and almost unnoticeable as I begin my day. But dammit if that little person isn't breaking the bone in half before the sun starts to go down. I really have to check sometimes to make sure I am not splitting apart at my groin area because each step I take starts to feel like I am cracking in half with that chisel breaking into the bone. And that whole walking like a cowboy that spent a month in the desert on a horse, that side-to-side awkward hobble. It's just so I don't disrupt that person with the hammer. And it might possibly be that it slightly minimizes the impact that feels as though steel nails are being driven into the ligaments that attach my legs to my groin upon the strike of each step. And it ends when I climb into bed, the hammering, although the pulsing pain lingers until I drift away. It helps to imagine that moment when I get to look at her and talk to her precious little baby face. And I will totally be all "Dude! Did hear all that hammering! Wasn't that insane!"
*p.s. Those are cowboy boots Mike inherited from his uncle. It's a sore spot in our marriage. He isn't allowed to wear them when I am with him. You could say I have a thing against western wear fashion. Or perhaps it's all the imagined kicking in the groin by a boot that ruined it for me.
