Sacroiliitis. A right old pain in the ar*e.

Now, I may have the complexion of a baby’s bum thanks to this, but it seems that other bits of me are falling apart.  Childbirth has caught up with me and apparently my pelvis is shouting for help.  I have sacroiliitis.  No? Me neither, in fact I had to get the doctor to write it down, after I hobbled into the surgery yesterday.

This explains why, for the last little while, I have moved around with exclamations of ooooooohhhhhhh, aaaaahhhhhh and had many sharp intakes of breath.  The bits connecting my spine to my pelvis are inflamed and that’s why I struggle to bathe my offspring.  Or dress myself.

Strangely enough though, it hurts the least when I am running.  Not terribly practical.  I may just have to become Leigh-on-Sea’s answer to Forrest Gump.

I’m pretty tough when it comes to pain, as I learned when I had my daughter, but this sacro-wotsit nonsense is sending me potty!  I want to be able to chuck my girl around at the park, have her cling to my hip, lift her out of her cot even.

Bah humbug to all of this.  Could be far worse, I know, but I thought I’d have a self-indulgent winge anyway.  I’ll be having injections in my back soon and maybe some physio too.

In the meantime, I shall focus my efforts on getting my jeans on without weeping, consuming red wine and codeine and learning how to spell the bloody word sacroiliitis.