I’ve had it super easy so far. Never barfed. All tests that should be negative are negative. Been enjoying keeping my hair full and long instead of the regular shed. But it finally happened — something went rotten in the state of Pregnant. No, I did not find out I’m giving birth to Hamlet. Rather, I am an old haggie woman with a broken, aching back.

It started about three weeks ago and has progressively gotten worse to a debilitating level. I have a constant soreness in my mid-back that radiates from dull buzzes to burning hot coals. No matter how I’m sitting, standing, or laying, my mid-back area is extremely uncomfortable. By the end of my day, I am on fiah. Makes driving, my day job as a teacher, and blogging in bed, super uncomfortable.

I also have what I think is sciatica that shoots down my tailbone. The quick sharp pains are tolerable — not fun, but tolerable because they’re quick — but what’s more concerning is that they’re literally paralyzing. Getting up from a chair, sitting up in bed, or getting out of the car are activities that spark this weak-in-the-back pain. It’s like my back gives out and I resemble the very old woman who shouts “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” What’s unfortunate is that I’m not a very old woman. Just a very pregnant one.

So at my last appointment with Dr. Fiiiiiine, I told her of my woes and expected her to laugh at me because I am a wimp (we have that kind of relationship), but my woe sparked a “Whoa!” and she prescribed me some physical therapy. So now, I am one of those pregnant PT patients.

I made my appointment, but had to wait a few days until the relief would be mine. Per the suggestion of other been-there-done-that moms, I finally decided I should seek happiness in the pool. Anyone who knows me knows that my athletic tendencies are, um, not at all. I was never a water baby and I am not a water mama. Something about ruining my hair or getting water in my eyes — waaahhhh. I prefer pools only when I can lay by them with a pretty pink umbrella drink. In a ski suit. Because, no, bathing suits are not my friend.

Luckily, my condo complex has a pool that is constantly dead so I sucked it up, squeezed into my maternity bathing suit, which, really, is a comedy of errors in itself, and brought Princeton the Lifeguard Dog with me (no dogs allowed, but really, no one is ever there and I live on the edge). I didn’t even shave my legs. I am such a rebel. I was really proud of myself just for being there.

I look apprehensive. Well, I was. I got in the pool and whimpered because it was not 107 degrees, and then shrugged my shoulders like, “Um, now what?” I had no idea what to do. Laps would mean risking water on my good-hair-day hair. Walking around seemed stupid. So I did much less stupid things, like twirls and arm circles and wannabe-treading water. Princeton cocked his head and stared at me because his mother, who he thought he knew so well, was acting abnormally and behaving in a foreign manner. He probably wished for the pound. Anything would be better than watching his guardian participate in this charade.

After 15 minutes, I got really bored. And heard the dings of Words with Friends updates calling from my iPhone at the edge of the pool, so, obviously I got out and toweled off. Princeton licked the water off my legs, welcoming me back to my senses.

But you know what? I didn’t hate the pool. And for those 15 minutes, my back didn’t hurt and I felt weightless. When I finally saw my PT a couple days later, she confirmed it was good for me and I should continue playing around in the pool. And then she gave me the best, hurts-so-good massage of my life and confirmed I’m a mess. She also said it will probably get worse over the next 11 weeks as I grow and baby grows, so it’s a good thing I’m starting to see her now (says the mother of three with two kids in college…). No, but really, she’s great and I can’t wait to go back.

And back into the pool.