Just as long as I don't spill any milk.

Because that would push me completely over the edge.

***

I took my week off, and I slowed way down and got to know the bus schedule, and things got better. I was almost fully mobile again, albeit at a reduced pace, and then last weekend I decided to vacuum the floor and clean the bathroom. And just like that, all the progress vanished. Back to the beginning of back recovery I went.

Yesterday I found myself in the center of town, almost unable to move. The lumbar pain is sufficient for that, but I'd also just had to walk at a brisk pace – brisk for a granny, in any case – to catch a train that a not-on-schedule bus had made me late for. And these days, walking at any pace faster a snail's is enough to bring on vicious cramping and contractions.

I had to move, though, if for no other reason than having to pee. (Of course I did; it had been more than thirty minutes since my last trip to the toilet, and twice hourly seems to be about my current rate.) So I entered a shopping center where I knew there'd be some available and slowly, painfully, made my way over to them.

I reached the door just when I didn't think I'd be able to take another step and opened it to find ... not the toilets but rather a flight of stairs leading down to them. Stairs are killing me these days. A step downwards makes me wince in pain and causes my leg to shudder beneath me. A step upwards is almost as bad. Add in the cramps and yowling bladder notwithstanding, I couldn't handle these; I just burst into tears and plopped into a nearby chair for a good wallow in the mud of self-pity.

Shortly I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a middle-aged woman who'd been watching me stumble around. Yet another new friend to be made during a pregnancy-related "crisis," I thought at first.

But no. She had questions not about me but rather about a phrase she'd scribbled down in a little notebook. "XO, kisses." Somebody had sent her an email, ending it with that. "What does it mean?" she asked me, in French. I explained and the smile on her face as she understood brought one back to my own, and I wondered who'd sent her the message to make her so happy.

But how did she know I was capable of a translation from English? I also wondered that, afterwards. Perhaps because any good Suissesse would have been more capable than me of keeping a stiffer upper lip in face of what is surely not the most formidable of foes.

Or perhaps the not-so-gently uttered "Fuuuuuuuuck!" that came out of me when I saw the stairway beyond the door was the giveaway.

***

Rest of the story: I pulled myself together. I descended the stairs and peed. Then I went home and took a nap and a painkiller. Things became good again. And then Gilles said he thought we shouldn't go baby-stuff-shopping this weekend because I should really rest instead, and another fit of nerves commenced. If we didn't have this little sucker to hold responsible, we'd both be totally over me.

to think I used to appreciate every step ...