I’ve got real pain in the butt, and, nope, it has nothing to do with “aging.”
The day I turned the big four-o, some little imp got hold of me and jogged me into revisiting that old friend, Wanderlust. Now the idea of a long, long ride proved too tempting, and I just had to say go.
The thing is, packing is not the haphazard thing that it was. A backpack was no longer enough, what with the baby bottles, the sterilizer, the formula and all. Midway, when it was clear that Gianna would not let me pack in peace, I thought of calling the whole thing off. But then again, the little imp whispered “open road, open road,” and the hassles of organized packing were forgotten.
It was around midnight when the discomfort started. To her credit, Gianna is an A-one traveler. She doesn’t whine, doesn’t whimper. She’s a sound sleeper, too. And since she used my lap as her pillow, I was constrained to sit still and not shift position for the better part of 12 hours.
When we reached our destination, my butt was so sore from sitting. For a while, I couldn’t move without grunting, and the idea of sitting yet again was an agony.
It was the same story on the way back. But the three days in between were just so wonderfully different. There were no deadlines to take me away from Little Miss Cling-Wrap, we had all the time to bond, and she had a blast singing “Tomorrow” on rain-drenched streets.
So okay, I have an aching butt. But I have a spring in my step as well, and I am perfectly fine.