In Which our Heroine Goes Totally off the Reservation and Writes a Letter to a Random Body Part

Dear Lower Back,

Please stop it, you're hurting me.

Seriously, whatever it is that's happening right now...wait, I know what's happening right now. I have a 20-week-old fetus in residence, and their head is resting against the top of my tailbone. That's according to my new, very sweet obstetrician, who I saw this week. She is a part of the practice who will be delivering the fetus-in-residence on June 27th, give or take.

Not that you care about any of that, Lower Back. All you care about is yourself. That's fine. You're selfish, I get it.

Listen, you know that I can't do anything about all the pain you're causing me. I know that, because you and I have talked about it before. Seriously, just this morning, when we were lying in bed together--remember, I was crying, I was asking you to just stop hurting me, because ohmigod, the pain...Okay. No, I didn't think you were listening at the time either, but I just wanted to let you know how I was feeling.

The very sweet obstetrician was just so nice that I kept almost forgetting that she was a doctor, and when she took a look with the ultrasound yesterday and saw 20-week-old-fetus butt, and that was about it...she hypothesized that the reason you're hurting me so freaking much is that there's a forehead pressed against my lower back. I understand, you know? It can't be all that comfortable to have a forehead pressed against you. I'm sure it's unpleasant for you.

I just...I don't know. I think you're being a little bit self-centered, is all. You know, we're stuck with each other for a little while, and the lease on my lady bits doesn't run out until June, so we're both stuck with the fetus, too. I think we all ought to learn to get along together. I've been talking to the fetus on your behalf; I know you're not great about talking about your feelings, so I just thought I would say something. I know it's not that fun to have a head pushed up against you. It's not a big head or anything, but still--it's a head where there usually isn't a head. I understand. Also, when I have another, more advanced ultrasound on Friday, I really want to find out whether it's a boy fetus or a girl fetus, and unless it moves around a little by Friday, we won't be able to see much of the determining factor. I'm just trying to think about all of us here, you know?

It's just that the thing I'm not sure you're aware of is that when I would usually seek some sort of pain remedy in order to deal with the fact that you're really causing me a lot of pain right now, I no longer have that luxury. I guess it's bad for the fetus for me to take Aleve, or Motrin, or to inject pure Pakistani heroin directly into the sclera of my left eyeball. I don't know if you knew that was bad for the fetus...I mean, I'd heard, and I said something to you about it this morning, but I know it was early, and you really don't do mornings that well. I can take Tylenol, but, I mean, come on. My three year old can take Tylenol. What's that supposed to do to help me? I use the heating pad on you--I know you like that a lot, because when I do that, sometimes you leave me alone for, like, a whole hour--but I can't bring it to work, because I don't have anywhere to plug it in.

Listen, I really hate to be a nag. You don't want to listen to me whine for the next 20 weeks, do you? Could we work something out? Like, maybe I'll just write you this letter, and you'll stop hurting me, and we can both just move on from here? Try to get along and live together? I know we can--we've done so well together up to this point. But like I said, you're really hurting me. I just want you to stop. I'll forgive you, I promise--it'll all be water under the bridge. But I need you to really make an effort, show me that you want this as bad as I do. We're in it together now, Lower Back. I can't do this without you--and by this I mean, you know, walking around, or sitting, or standing, or pretty much anything--and I'm pretty sure you won't get far without me, so can we try to work it out? For the baby?

Please?

Love,
Molly