My Aching Back, My Baby Girls

For freak's sake.  I did something horribly awful to my back - what, I'm not sure.  Probably hefting up and wrestling with my Senorita Semi Truck -

or schlepping my chunk in training around in the Baby Bjorn, or her wretched infant carrier - oh, who invented those bulky, spine-bending atrocities - 

or even, on occasion, lifting our "big" girl:

Whatever I did to my back feels so terrible that I even regret my usual shrugs to PVT when he whacks out his back - hey, it's not contagious!   It's not cancer! - because my gosh when your back hurts your whole BODY hurts.  I took ibuprofen, and when that proved less than helpful, I considered raiding my stash of post-partum Percocet.  But given my predilection for gateway drugs like Franzia Chilled White, I am trying to hold off, hoping that this body-mangling pain remedies itself soon.

Speaking of our dear daughters:  today we finally attended our preschool's open house.  I am a good customer at our church's preschool, which is why Sylvie gets to join the two year old class before her 2nd birthday.  We are praying fervently she does not get expelled.  Colette, a veteran at our little preschool, will be in a class with 6 girls and 2 boys.  Some of the girls were there today, and these girls, for whatever reason, seemed a bit older (well, they were - at least one is doing a "growth year" before kindergarten - don't get me started on "growth years"), a bit more sophisticated, and - oh, I don't know - like they have been fed the "I am a princess" line since they were three days old.  Our daughter has her diva episodes, has her moments of imperiousness, but we have never subscribed to the "princess" line of thought that seems more prevalent here towards the South.  I am absolutely certain that even Colette's smitten father has never uttered the "P" word.  But these girls today:  they seemed so self-assured, a bit clique-ish, that I am worried - perhaps irrationally - that they might be less than lovely to my innocent little redhead.  Our eldest daughter, despite having three brothers, is reveling in her innocence, her little-little-little girlhood, with her baby sisters, her dolls and recycled gift-bag parties.

I am probably being ridiculous.  But the glimpse I got of the future - near, or far - of the "mean" girls - sent a chill through my crooked, aching spine.