So the first day I missed posting it was because I got super angry at The Bean and stomped off to bed. I didn’t realize I’d skipped a post until I woke up the next morning. Whoops. Yaaaay, marriage.
The next day I missed was because I pulled something in my back. I tweaked my back by sleeping wrong, and then as I was twisting the Kraken around to do a back carry with my new TwinGo baby carrier, I felt whatever muscle I had tweaked actually cramp up…. and by the time I was done with my shopping trip it had gone from cramping to flat-out HURTING. I managed to get home and survive the rest of the day with the help of my friends Tylenol and ibuprofen…. but by 9pm I was hurting so bad I broke out some of the pain meds I have leftover from my 2013 appendectomy. By 9:30 I was still hurting, but it didn’t bother me quite as bad, so I floated off to sleep.
I didn’t realize I skipped a day until the next day at 8pm at night. Wait a second…. hadn’t I committed to writing 31 days in a row? Oh my gosh. I’d skipped two days! I really had to sit down and… I really had to…. I really had
Man, I really wanted a drink of water. Oooh, I should get a drink of water and go to bed early. That was a great idea. I bet I could get 3 solid hours before the twins woke up for their first nightly feed. Water, then bed. What a solid plan. G’night, Bean.
….. in case you are wondering, yes. Yes, I really do miss my ADHD meds. Someone really needs to come out with an ADHD med that’s safe to take while breastfeeding. Pretty please?
The next day I realized I had skipped WAY too many days in a row, and no matter what happened I needed to sit down and post, even if I had already ruined the “31 days in a row” portion of it.
Since my back was still really sore I decided I would take a quick bath before I sat in my chair to write. It was still early enough that I could soak my back, write a post, and still get to bed at a decent hour.
I started the tub running and dumped in a healthy amount of my favorite soap in the world:
Nicole, you’re the bomb-diggity for turning me on to this. It rocks.
While the bath filled up I threw on a robe and went out to get the most critical part of any bath: a Ziploc baggie.
Ziploc baggies are a girl’s best friend, and I’ll tell you why: I like to read in the tub, and all of my books are e-books. Now, normally reading in the tub on an expensive e-reader would be a dumb idea, but awhile back I discovered they sell these expensive little bags that you can put your Nook into so you can read in a tub. I was considering buying one for a while, when all of a sudden it dawned on me…. couldn’t I just stick my cell phone in a Ziploc baggie and read on my Nook cell phone app?
The answer to that is: yes. Yes, you can. I’ve been reading in the tub in this style for years. Back in the beginning I used to put my cell phone in a sandwich-sized Ziploc baggie and then put that baggie in a bigger, gallon-size baggie, just in case…. but over the years I’ve relaxed my standards to the point that I only use a sandwich baggie.
So, that’s what I did this time: I went and got my Ziploc baggie, and toddled off to the bathtub, looking forward to my nice, back-relaxing bath. As I kicked off my clothes and prepared to get in, I opened the baggie and dropped my phone into the Ziploc baggie from about 6 inches above. I mean, if you’re a mom of four and you’re about to get into an Epsom salt bath and read a book, shouldn’t you do everything with a little flourish?
Aaaand the answer to that is: No. No, you should not.
What I hadn’t banked on this time is that this particular shopping trip I had decided to save a little money and I had forgotten that I’d picked up some discount, no-name baggies from Grocery Outlet instead of name brand Ziploc baggies. When I dropped the cell phone into the baggie with a flourish, the cell phone dropped into the bag…. and then dropped straight through the seam at the bottom of the bag and bounced onto the bathroom rug.
It all happened so seamlessly (pun intended) that I couldn’t figure out what had just happened.
I stood there and stared at my yellow iPhone on the floor for a moment, and then at the baggie in my hand, and then back at the phone.
Me: “What? I’m so confused.”
Brain: “That’s your phone on the floor, stupid.”
Me: “Why is it on the floor?”
Brain: “How the heck should I know? You think I was paying attention?”
Me: “Well, I certainly wasn’t. Why didn’t it go in the baggie? Why is it on the floor right now?”
Brain: “Well, neither of us was paying attention, so I bet you just missed the bag. I bet you went to go drop it in, and you dropped it beside the bag and it fell on the floor.”
Me: “I do have bad depth perception, so that’s certainly possible…. But isn’t it possible that the bag ripped?”
Brain: “Shhhhh. I swear, you get so caught up on stupid details. Just put it back in the bag and get in the tub. I am gonna release so many endorphins when that hot water hits your skin.”
Me: “Shouldn’t I check if the bag is ripped?”
Brain: “SHUT UP AND GET IN THE TUB. That hot water is getting getting colder by the second, and if you don’t get in while it’s still hot enough to sting your skin, you’re not gonna be able to pretend you’re Daenerys Targaryen and whisper ‘I am the Blood of the Dragon‘ to yourself.”
Me: “OMG, you’re totally right. But…. but what if the cell phone…”
Brain: “Quit being a worry wart. Just put it into the bag carefully. You’ll be fine.”
And so I did. I very, very carefully slipped the phone into the bag as I stepped into the tub… and my iPhone very, very carefully slipped through the torn bag and plopped right into the tub, disappearing beneath the bubbles.
I yelped out a curse word and with one leg in the tub and one leg still out, I began fishing around for the phone. It took longer than I wanted to find it, but finally I pulled it out. All I could think was “I need to get turn it off and get this thing in rice… STAT.” I don’t care if the new recommendation is to keep wet cell phones away from rice, I’ve dropped plenty of phones in water (please don’t judge me), and rice has saved them every time.
Feeling the urgency of the moment, I bounced up from my crouch, trying to lunge at my bath towel so I could dry off my phone and dash into the kitchen…..
Except I forgot that I was halfway in a tub….a tub full of water, and lots of soap. Do you know what happens when you try to bounce up from a crouch when one of your feet is in a tub full of soapy water?
The splits. The splits is what happens.
And you know, the splits are awesome if you are 15 and flexible and a cheerleader and stuff like that.
But do you know when the splits aren’t awesome? The splits aren’t awesome when you’re 35, and fat, and your back hurts, and you’ve never been flexible a day in your life to begin with.
One foot went one way, one foot went another, and both of my arms sprang upwards in a desperate attempt to…. I dunno. Cry out hallelujah? I have no idea what my stupid arms were trying to do, but I do know that my iPhone was SO EXCITED by the whole fiasco that it jumped out of my hand (I swear I heard it say”Wheeee!!!!”) and it plunged back in the tub again.
Okay, let me do a little bit of explaining before I launch into the next part of this story. Back when I was young and spry and single, I did imagine being naked in front of my husband. Oh, whatever. Every teenager daydreams about it. I could totally picture it. I’d be posed in a doorway, with my arms over my head or something, because that always makes your boobs look GREAT and your stomach look flat. Anyways, I’d be standing there, all taut and sexy, with the light playing juuuust right over my skin, and I’d say something like, “Hey there, sailor. Wanna dock your ship?”
Yes, I know that’s a terrible sex metaphor. I’m not very good at sexy talk, okay? My inept sex talk is not the point of this. Stay with me, okay?
The point is, I did picture being naked in front of my husband, and in these daydreams I was always really in shape, and posing, and totally sexy.
What I did not picture was the way I was naked in front of my husband last week, as I dragged my angry, tired carcass through the living room with my sopping went iPhone wrapped in a towel.
In my daydreams I pranced about, nymph-like.
In my daydreams I did not limp heavily by my husband on legs that were not working quite right after being forced into unnatural positions.
Step-THUMP. Step-THUMP. Step-THUMP. Not only was I not prancing, but I could feel things…. swinging. Ponderously. There are many things that make you feel sexy as a woman. Feeling your belly and thighs and other jiggly bits flapping about in the wind from the force of your limping? That is not one of them.
Honestly, it looked exactly like this, only I was more hunched over, and there was an iPhone in my hand instead of an arm:
I’d like to say I was saying sweet, wifely, Christian things under my breath as I limped my way through the living room…. but I know I wasn’t. I don’t remember exactly what I was saying, but it wasn’t nice, and it wasn’t repeatable.
Step-THUMP. Quiet spewing of profanity.
Step-THUMP. More profanity.
And that’s when I heard it, from over near the couch.
“OOOH. Heeey, sexy.”
I ignored it. I was NOT in the mood for teasing. Step-THUMP. STUPID &!&@! PHONE. Stupid phone with its bleepity-bleep bag WITH ITS STUPID BLEEPITY-BLEEP RIPPING…
“Heeey, sexy. Do I see boobies?”
Wait a second….was he…. was he flirting with me? No. No, there was no way possible he could be flirting with me. I’m pretty sure that this was, hands down, the least sexy I’ve ever looked.
Step-THUMP. Where was a clean @(*@&#*! bowl? Step-THUMP. Where was the bleeping bag of rice?
Holy crap. He was. The Bean was honestly flirting with me. The only thing propelling me forward and keeping me from collapsing in a puddle in frustrated tears was one good leg and stubborn anger….. and he was flirting with me. Couldn’t he see me limping? Couldn’t he see my deflated stomach flapping in the wind? Couldn’t he see the pure, unadulterated rage oozing out of my very pores? I limped over to grab my phone and shove it in the rice bowl.
Step-THUMP. Step-THUMP. Flap-flap. Step-THUMP.
“Whoo-whoo. I seee your boobies…. Hey, sexy!”
And that’s when it hits me, and that’s where we come to the whole point of this post: I always thought The Bean was lying, or just saying stuff to make me feel better….
But I think he’s telling the truth.
I honestly don’t think he notices the weight gain, at least not when I’m, errrr, “en deshabille”.
So while my iPhone’s SIM card is now damaged beyond repair and I can only use it to go on Facebook or other apps, and then only when connected with WIFI, and while I didn’t get the satisfying bath I’d daydreamed of, and even though I step-thumped my way into pajamas and straight to bed and spent the next few days sulking instead of writing…..
I dunno. It’s a small price to pay for realizing that The Bean still loves me, and that he’s not nearly as hard on me as I am on myself.
Love ya, Bean.
Also… do you have any idea where we put your old cell phone? I need to activate it tomorrow.