It's a Thursday night and my husband is working late. I am eight months pregnant with our third son. Our other two are jumping from couch to couch in the living room. I am so tired that I can’t stop them. All day, my back has been killing me.
I scan the floor for possible safety hazards. None. So the jumping is fairly safe with the exception of breaking a bone if they fall. It is not their first time. They are expert couch jumpers. I decide it is an OK time to fetch my home shiatsu back massager.
My back has been suffering this entire pregnancy. I hobble like an old woman to the hall closet and reach for the massager inside of its box on an upper shelf. Still bent over and holding my back with my right hand, I make my way back to the living room where the wild children are. I set up the massager in our stuffed leather recliner. I plug the cord in the outlet and sit back into the chair, ready for some pain relief.
It just feels good to sit down. I have resorted to turning on a cartoon to settle my kids down. As I reach for the remote and start their show, they sit like angels on the couch, hands in their laps and silent. Ahh, mommy time. I close my eyes as the kneading starts at the back of my neck. The pressure is hard enough to give me goose bumps but soon my muscles relax and it begins to feel good. The mechanism moves up and down my back and neck and I finally feel myself breathing deeper and slower. I even try to block out the sound of “Diego” playing on the TV in the background.
I am so relaxed that I could forget that I am sitting in my living room and imagine myself getting an actual massage. I am in a quiet spa with peaceful waterfalls and aromatherapy. A Brad Pitt look-alike massage therapist is rubbing my muscles and taking away the pain. SUDDENLY, my daydream is interrupted by a small person that has just come over to ask me for something to drink, noticed the massager and is now climbing behind me to see it, pulling my hair in the process.
My at-home massage is short lived. Maybe I can ask one of the boys to run a toy car down my back instead. They have now kicked me out of the chair and are fighting over who is going to use the massager. I sigh heavily and look at the clock. Please let my husband come home soon.