Babies Got Back

This one is not about butts. It’s about having babies and what it's done to my back…

Confession: I am not a fan of that song. I’m more of a “Rumpshaker” girl. There’s something about that jazzy saxophone. All I wanna do is…put my body back together after three babies so I can maybe attempt a Boston qualifier. 

I have not run more than one mile consecutively in over two years. My last good run ironically occurred the day before I found out I was pregnant with my third, one month shy of my 39th birthday. The even more ironic thing? I had an IUD. 

So here we are now. I am 41 and my baby girl is 18 months old. I ran two times for the first time since that fateful July 2021 day last week. By run I mean I walked for one minute and ran for one minute for about twenty minutes total. I’m going back to basics, literally, figuratively, and physically. The journey to Boston starts with one step and all. 

While never a particularly limber person, I took for granted my body’s youthful resiliency. I exercised extensively when I was younger - heavy cardio, minimal stretching. All wrapped up in my quest to be thin, which I’ll not unpack here because that will throw out my back. In my twenties, if I wasn’t sweating, I wasn’t exercising. I scoffed when my college roommates headed off to yoga. 

Today, I am a dedicated, if clunky, yogi. I practice daily thanks to the “10-20 Minute Yoga Playlist” courtesy of Yoga with Adriene. My exercise intensity gauge (read: how much I am willing to sweat) is calibrated by whether I need to wash my hair or not.

I still have a hard time just lying around stretching, which happens to be just what the PT ordered for my recovery. Issues with my back started with my first and second pregnancies. Given the circumstances surrounding both deliveries that involved NICU stays, focusing on my body got put on the back burner (punny!). 

Which brings me to my third geriatric - excuse me, advanced maternal age - pregnancy. The one at 39 with the IUD. All of those glorious hormones that made my hair and nails grow to pageant queen quality also yanked my pelvis out of alignment. At the end of the day my back would collapse like a folding chair. Party’s over, beotch. 

I started seeing a prenatal massage therapist for relief. One afternoon, cocooned on the massage table, it hit me. It’s all connected. I think I knew that from science class, but that day my masseuse told me they can tell when people’s hamstrings and jaws are tight just by the flatness of their voice. It’s all one big muscle down the back, and now I knew it because I could feel it. Also, I must sound like a deflating air mattress. 

A few weeks after my third delivery I started pelvic floor therapy. I had no clue this existed after my first given I lost 11 weeks of preparation, I was vaguely aware this was a thing after my second, and I insisted upon it after my third. I also insist more women know about it, and hope this essay has a butterfly effect, raising pelvic floor awareness on the earth and restoring leaky urethras everywhere. I’m calling it the tinkle-ripple-effect or maybe it should be the no-peezy-when-sneezy effect. 

Which brings me to the second jawdropper (bada-bing!) I learned during pelvic floor therapy. My tailbone hurt like a mo-fo and I had no idea why. I didn’t fall and land on it or anything, but it hurt like I did. I asked my occupational therapist and she said, “women can actually break their tailbone during labor because of how the baby has to turn.” And I said, “what the f$%^$?”

After shushing-and-tightening all over Cincinnati, my back still hurt. I turned to a physical therapist who discovered the misalignment of my pelvis. My left hip tilted backwards and my right hip tilted forwards like the happy meal wind-up toys I find all over my house (and joyfully throw out). We realigned my pelvis through a series of exercises and stretches that built me an internal girdle. 

Fixing that issue irritated an old hamstring injury I subsequently worsened straddling over a baby gate on vacation. I was starting to feel like Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas.” That movie always reminds me of the mopey Blink-182 song “I Miss You” that came out while I was in college around the time my best friend said he wanted to date me and then didn’t two weeks later. Spoiler alert - we are no longer friends. 

Fixing that issue revealed that my piriformis muscle was too tight and pressing on my sciatic nerve, which made it seem like the hamstring issue wasn’t resolved because of the annoying pain shooting down my leg. More stretches, more exercises, and more dry needling. 

Finally, I felt good enough physically to attempt to run last week. The first time I ran on the treadmill in our basement. I had to Mission-Impossible-sneak past the baby’s room because she wakes up if I so much as sniff. My husband could lead a parade by her room with no issues. She woke up anyway and fussed the whole time. Plus, the treadmill takes about 20 seconds to get up to speed and back down which was slightly annoying. But I did it and it felt good! 

The second time I ran outside between school drop-offs. I much prefer running outside. Since my Apple watch and Garmin are collecting dust, I had to carry my phone and constantly look at the stopwatch. Better than the treadmill lag time, but still slightly annoying to watch the clock. But I did it again…oh baby, baby. Two for two. 

I am proud of myself for being intentional about peeling back all the layers and building them back up one at a time to be stronger. Running is my release. I’ve missed it desperately, but I am also proud of the discipline I’ve exercised in order to ensure I can not only resume but sustain running. Baby got her back and body mostly back together and back into running. Because nobody puts baby (or her back) in a corner. 

Come on baby, kick this your friend’s way…please share like you would going-out tops in college.