My boyfriend threw his back out. I feel partly responsible because I went with him to move a couple of 15-gallon kegs full of wine on Saturday and when he went to lift them, I said, “let me help you,” because they had to be lifted up into the back of a truck. When I grabbed hold of one side and he the other and started to lift, I then said, “I can’t do this. I can’t lift this at all.” He took over and proceeded to lift them both into the truck. I worried about his back. Rightly so.
On Sunday (yesterday) we planned a five-mile run with friends. He had his boys on Saturday night so he would be pushing them in the double stroller while he ran. He stopped to pick me up in the morning and came in to get his running shoes. He said, “I think I tweaked my back a little yesterday.” I told him I wasn’t surprised. I mentioned that perhaps he shouldn’t run, but he thought he was okay. So off we went on the five-mile hilly run.
Later in the afternoon he texted that both boys were napping so he was going to try to nap too. Meanwhile, I helped Sarah shovel dirt and gravel for a couple hours for her new home project. Then I heard from Mike. His back was gone and he still needed to shop for dinner and cook for the boys. Of course I said I would do it. I scrapped my plans to watch Walking Dead with Sarah, then picked up groceries and went to take care of them. All three of them.
I made dinner, fed them, cleaned the kitchen, walked on Mike’s back, and got them all settled into bed to watch a movie before I went home. Exhausted, but feeling happy and satisfied, I sat on the couch knowing my cat would be on my lap the second I did, and then I broke the news to her that we would soon be outnumbered.