My Shoulder Injury, or Why I Can't Pick Up My Daughter

If you've never given a cat a bath, I suggest you steer clear of the experience. It involves a lot of chasing, kicking, and uncontrollable urination. It's an extreme sport. But when fleas take up residence in the inner workings of your cat's neck fur, extreme measures are necessary.

But I'm not here to discuss my cat's bath. I want you to look at her eyes. She has mastered the I-hate-this-more-than-you'll-ever-know stare. I've had a similar look for the past couple of days.

It started with a painful mishap late last week that strained my shoulder that sent me to the doctor today for a steroid shot and a prescription. The doctor said to take it easy and try not to lift anything heavier than a half gallon of milk. Like my daughter. Who weighs eighteen-and-a-half pounds last I checked. Also, I'm supposed to take it easy despite training for a 10K in a few weeks (I can do "light" running) and having an article to write (though sitting at the computer isn't so bad in small increments -- using the mouse is horrible).

With the onset of the shoulder pain came a bad bout of not wanting to be a mommy. I just needed a break this week. And I'm sure no one ever admits to feeling like this, but with this small handicap I just haven't been up for it. I've been tired and ornery, feeling the tug of art I can't seem to produce, getting jealous of all the people who have functioning body parts and interesting projects to work on, and wishing I had a map to point me in the right direction. And my shoulder has been killing me.

I'm pitiful.

It should be a few weeks before my shoulder is healed (God willing). And I should come out of this pity party in one piece (God willing). If you are so inclined, feel free to send chocolate and book recommendations. Stat!