Old vs. Young

A week ago Friday (so 10 days ago) I took a pretty good fall down the stairs.  I'm not quite sure what happened; one second I was just about to go down the stairs and the next I was at the bottom, in a lot of pain, holding a terrified and screaming baby.

Oh yes - I was holding Tess.  Mother of the year, no?

Other than being quite upset and having sprained her right leg a bit, Tess was fine.  I, on the other hand, was down for the count.  After a good five minutes I drug myself upstairs, took several ibuprofen, and put myself to bed for the rest of the weekend.

By Monday I was hobbling around but still in quite a bit of pain.  (My lower back and backside, if you're curious.  I'm pretty sure my bum hit every stair on the way down.)  I thank my lucky stars that Lance had planned to take this week off, otherwise things could've gotten really ugly around here.  I mean, I could get around and such, but after standing or sitting up or running errands for an hour or two I needed to lay down for a couple of hours to recouperate.

By Saturday I was only feeling sore when I stood up or sat down.  But church today set me back again - those pews and metal folding chairs?  Certainly not meant for my type of injury!  (I should've taken the Boppy to sit on.  I'm sure that wouldn't have drawn any attention to me at all, right?)

Anyways, I've been feeling a little sorry for myself, but mainly I've been feeling dumb for having fallen in the first place.  And old.  So very old.  I didn't think 34 was all that old, but my body is now telling me otherwise.  Oy.

As if to rub it in my face, Cole took a good fall down the stairs a few days ago.  (Sheesh, maybe we need to take a good look at our stairs...)  His fall was probably faster and harder than mine.  But did he fall apart, devour a bottle of ibuprofen, and develop and addiction to the heating pad?  Nope.  He just stood up, said "Ow.", and then proceeded down the rest of the stairs to the basement.

Getting old is tough, especially around the young.