Coffee, anyone?

I am locked inside my bedroom, dreading opening that door. Opening that door means leaving this room, and leaving this room means dealing with what I have done, and what I have done is not pretty.

In my defense, I am experiencing now, for everyone's delight, what back labor feels like.

Waking up with excruciating pain in my lower back that feels as if someone has punched my kidneys and my lower abs from inside out with a knuckle brace does not make me pleasant to live with.

The nurse on duty counseled that I took Tylenol and applied a heating pad on my lower back, both of which I did not have at home in the middle of the night.

As I placed myself instinctively on my hands and knees under a hot shower that hit exactly my lower back, my husband went hunting at two in the morning for the pain killer and heating pad.

When he got back I still cried helplessly under the water. The poor guy drugged me up and sat on the couch with me until I fell asleep. He got some brownie points for it.

Husband had to wake up a few hours later and go to work. Much later I finally ventured out of the cave where I almost grew roots on the couch from fear of moving in any direction.

The pain was back and I literally breathed lamaze breaths on the way to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.

Maybe I was in fact seeing double because of the pain, or maybe I chose not to see it, but the coffee grinder (that was full) was in front of the pan I wanted to get and it came flying on top of my head, showering me with coffee grounds.

I had coffee all over my hair, my face, inside my clothes, inside my underwear! The whole kitchen took on the black shade of it.

My first instinct: become paralyzed with my pissed off feelings in my new black tan.

The second instinct: cry uncontrollably.

And the third reaction: sit on the floor, grab my phone and tell everyone about it, looking for sympathy.

My friends reactions were not the most sensitive, however. "You have coffee inside your underwear? Hahahahahah"

At this moment I didn't find it funny at all, until of course, I decided to go to the bathroom (and drizzled more coffee on the hallway in the process) to look at myself in the mirror and realize I looked like a coal mine worker after a psychological meltdown. Between tears I started laughing.

Crying that turns into laughter is my favorite.

I would have procrastinated going to take a shower a little longer, feeling overwhelmed with the mess, if the coffee didn't start to itch.

I decided that such traumatic event and the continuing of lower back pain granted me a bath soak.

In the light on this part of the bathroom I discovered that I have been doing a terrible job shaving my legs and also cleaning under the cabinets.

A friend had told me, when I were still sitting on the floor of the blackened kitchen with coffee covering my eyelashes, which made my vision crumbly, that this probably happened for a reason, and here are the reasons I can think of,

- The gods of labor want me to suffer and find out instinctively that getting on my hands and knees will make the pain less horrifying.

- The gods of cooking don't want me to cook any more.

- The gods of coffee want me to learn that coffee is itchy.

- The gods of ridicule want my friends to have a good laugh.

- The gods of harry legs want me to shave properly.

- The gods of babies want me to watch my bump float in a full tub as the alien inside practices martial arts.

- The gods of procrastination want me to write this blog instead of cleaning the mess I left in the kitchen.