Morning Ritual

If we didn’t have to let Rocky out for a pee and poo, David and I would probably sleep in every day. As it is, we have an unspoken agreement to take turns getting up.

For me, that’s a particular ordeal on account of my back. Mind you, later in the day I can heft 40-pound bags and potted shrubs while gardening, but the morning’s a different story.

First, there’s getting out of bed. I have to swing my legs over the side, push myself upright, then walk my hands up my thighs to get into a standing position. I walk gingerly to the bathroom, holding my stomach in lest my lower back erupt in painful spasms. Sometimes I can’t get up from the toilet without a boost from my palm on the seat.

The real excitement comes downstairs when I’m filling Rocky’s food dish. The little pellets of compressed turkey and fish are stored in a large bin at ground level, meaning I have to squat to screw off the lid, find the measuring cup, and scoop out the required amount into Rocky’s dish. 

Once I’m down, bowl in hand, often I can’t get up, not unlike a beached whale. I have to consider how best to negotiate the distance between me and the little rug where Rocky’s bowl is intended to sit, about five feet. Sometimes I scoot on my butt to a nearby coffee table and use an arm to haul myself up. Sometimes it’s me on my knees crawling...you get the picture. And all the while, Rocky is jumping excitedly toward the bowl in my hand, eager to start on his breakfast.

My doctor says morning back cramps are not unusual as we age. And yes, it happens no matter what sort of mattress I sleep on.

So this is what I can expect with the morning ritual from here on out? Hmmm.