The Culprit

It all began Tuesday morning. I got up, felt great, got a shower, and got dressed. All except for my shoes. After chasing Gabby around and trying to stay within the boundaries of my routine We were all running a couple of minutes behind schedule. She had finally landed on her little pink chair and Amber was finishing up with her own hair. I went to retrieve the ever illusive baby hairbrush from the guest bathroom along with the Flintstone vitiamins. Which, by the way, would soon be emptied onto the counter to find the last orange “dino”. Gabby has systematically removed and devoured the purple characters, leaving only the red ones. For some reason she either prefers them and is saving them until last (the captain crunch berry theory) or she absolutely hates them and won’t eat them at all. We will only be able to tell after the last orange Barney and Betty are gone. I reached down like normal and grabbed my shiny black dress shoes. I pulled the left one on and took another step towards the brown living room chair that will temporarily reside in our bedroom until Christmas is over. I took another step, hoping to pull the other shoe on effortlessly in stride on my way to sit down and lace them both up.
That’s when it hit. My weight shifted. I moved slightly the wrong way. Whatever it was I knew this feeling all to well. With all the anticipation of a soup bowl on passenger train drivin by Casey Jones himself, my back gave way. The bone on bone grinding that results in the finality of a disc slipping pop. The next two months flashed across my mind to inform me of my future hobbling. I hit all fours. There was no where to go but down. The sharp pain is followed by the debilitating loss of mobility. I was trying to bear the pain and I must have looked very silly to Gabby.
Kids are great though. She simply got on all fours and began helping me look for what ever it was that I dropped. Needless to say, Priceless!

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