Frustrated

Nixon is frustrated. He wants to do a lot of things that he just can’t. He can’t crawl no matter how hard he tries. He can’t roll front to back and he certainly can’t stay happy past 8 p.m. I wish I could help him, but I’m no use. He has to learn.

I am frustrated with my body as well. Frustrated that it can’t do what it used to do. Like stand on one leg to put pants on or push or carry heavy things. Like sprint or bounce my baby long without searing pain. My pelvic is broken (not really, just undone). My tailbone is broken (yes, really). I feel broken. I limit myself to a short run twice a week, because anymore than that is just painful and any less is mentally too rough.

I so looked forward to the end of pregnancy and the ability to have no worry about hurting the child inside with activity. Although I exercised until three days before Nixon was born, I went light. I was hesitant. I went for a long bike ride the day before I miscarried a baby. Hesitation tends to result.

And now. Now my mind feels like it’s time to break free. I want to do so many things. I really feel I could run for hours. But I can’t. The doctor says maybe some day. Physical therapy first, then injections, then we’ll see. I have never been so thwarted.

Nixon and me. We’re in the same boat. Frustrated. He because he is learning and it’s hard being a little guy. Me because I thought I knew, and I’m dealing with the unexpected. It’s never been my strongest trait.