So I'm laying face down on the massage table, making use of my gift certificate to a fancy spa, and I find myself reciting prime numbers, of all things. I got through quite a number of them (the first 25) before I realized what I was doing. Geez, I thought. Here I am in a dim room with soft music getting a swedish massage, and I'm counting in prime numbers. (And I'm happy to report I got every single one of those numbers right- yay me).
I guess that was better than "ow, my poor over filled boob" since the little one hardly touched the one side this morning. Imagine if you will, laying on an engorged breast and having someone pressing down on your back, thus mushing said sore breast into the (albeit soft) table... 2...3...5...7...
The problem with going to a fancy spa is you very quickly start feeling out of place. I didn't know just how much to disrobe before putting on their fancy and SOOOO soft robe. Just as I was contemplating that, I realized that all that was left of the pedicure I had...oh....a good while ago were some chips of paint on my big toes, which I've been thinking about removing for some time (the chips of paint, not the toes). Then, when I climbed up on the table and settled in, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I had shaved my legs. A valid thing to wonder since I have a 4 month old and the last few showers have involved having him in there with me (sitting in his little thingy and splashing in the water while I wash up while also keeping both eyes on him- it's a talent I seem to have).
Speaking of showers, I raced home to pick up the cats from the vets and then raced from there to the house to pump. Now that all those chores are taken care of, I am realizing that I am covered in a thin layer of massage oil practically all over.