But maybe it's true bigger muscles make you stupid? My dad tells me the US media is all abuzz with Michelle Obama's big muscles, and she doesn't seem stupid. So perhaps it's just me.
Even though LE doesn't need to be hauled around as much as he used to, there's still a lot schlepping of him and his assorted equipment. He's over 14 kilos now (that’s about 31 pounds), and still needs to be pulled off tabletops, picked up from silent lays-down-on-ground-and-buries-face protests, discouraged from sitting in puddles, mud, and other filth, captured after daring diaper-change escapes, hoisted in and out of his high chair and carseat, lifted down from slides that have become suddenly terrifying for no apparent reason, and carried around because when he holds his arms up to be picked up I can’t resist. Then there’s the kicking and screaming side-hold, the swinging because it makes him forget to be mad, the riding on shoulders because he’s fed up with ground-level, and the bouncy fireman’s carry. This list doesn’t include the endless combinations that are possible while also carrying groceries, the carseat, a drink, or someone else’s baby.
The end result of all this is that I’ve developed bulging arm muscles. They’re as big as when I worked on a farm. This change has been gradual, so I haven’t really noticed it much.
So here’s the part where I was stupid. Without even thinking about it, I picked up the 19 liter (5 gallon) water bottle with one arm and carried it to the kitchen. Tra la la. I didn’t even notice I’d done this until I put it down because I was so busy trying to convince LE he shouldn’t be so upset that the water guy left and took the empty bottle. Then I noticed I’d just hauled the water bottle with ease and said ‘Holy shit, since when can I do that?’
And LE said ‘Shit,’ which means I definitely have to start watching my goddamned language.
Unfortunately, my back is not as super as my arms. My back sucks, and goes out every year or two. This is not as bad as the last time, where I could only walk bent double, but it freaking hurts and makes me grouchy. All I want is a handful of muscle relaxants and a bottle of red wine. And LE doesn’t get why I suddenly get so upset when he sits on my head or pushes my legs apart to walk between them.
So here I am, burly of arm and weak of back. Anyone know how to coax a two-year-old down from the table where we’ve hidden all the things we don’t want him to have?