Angie's Rib

There is very little that I remember of the daily ins and outs of my pregnancy. I do recall an awful lot, don’t get my wrong, but those typical complaints and cravings that you hear about with regards to pregnant women don’t come to mind. (You can ask my husband though. I’m sure he has a whole list!)

One particular complaint that I had towards the end was that I would repeatedly get kicked in the ribs every night. It was incredibly painful to the point where I would have a bodily reaction as if someone were kicking me in the stomach. A number of times I thought the force and repeated nature of the kicks would eventually break a rib. I even remember one night when the relentless kickboxing class made me cry. I thought at that particular moment, I would feel the bone(s) give way. Turned out it just hurt a lot and I didn’t sustain any broken ribs. 

As I said to a doctor early on when my daughter didn’t want to cooperate during her anatomy scan:

 “I have my work cut out for me, don’t I?”

 He replied, ‘Yes, you do.”

From that moment on, I knew M was going to be interesting. (There was another moment before that but this was the point when I knew I’d have my hands full!)  She definitely showed it through my pregnancy, especially every night as she auditioned for the Rockettes, and now that she’s outside my stomach as well.  

My little stunt double apprentice has taken a liking to the bathtub. Not entirely sure why but she could sit there for hours playing with toys and inspecting the material of which the tub is composed. One morning after finishing a bath, I turned to get the towel on the sink. I discovered on turning back that mini-spidergirl was climbing up the shower caddy, which gave way right under her. Acting quickly, I grabbed her with my right hand and held the caddy from falling with my left. In doing this acrobatic move, my foot slipped from under me and I crashed into the edge of the tub. I heard a crack and felt pretty intense pain. I was pretty certain that I broke a rib. As I was trying to compose myself, stop crying and attempt to move, my daughter looked at me like “Let’s do it again!” I turned to see the dog sniffing at my body. Maybe she knew something I didn’t know about my bones. 

Luckily nothing broke which is a blessing. Even with bruised/cracked ribs, it’s hard for them to heal when you have to pick up a munchkin who insists on moving at warp speeds. I just hope this is the last bit of torture my ribs will have to sustain for a while. But I’m definitely not holding my breath (frankly, because it hurts!).