I jacked up my neck on Friday. That night Chris has massaged it, which helped for the duration of the massage, but didn’t have the reversing affect I had hoped for.
All day yesterday I was in an acute amount of pain with barely 10% range of motion and that was after three ibuprofen, Muscle Vitality and cbd oil.
Enter the oldest.
She says, “Mom” in that special, loving, you’re-being-absurd-for-not-remembering-I-exist tone. And then she tells me she’s going to massage my neck because of her superior skills.
And me, being the completely empowering mom that I am, said, “okie” because I believe in her and wouldn’t deny her of trying to work her magic.
And somehow she mustered an obscene amount of voodoo because, sure enough, I had like 75% mobility by the time she was finished.
It was heartwarming, too, because as she massaged my neck she softly mumbled to the knots and kinks and tension, pointing out when she found them. I used to do that when I was younger and gave everyone back massages and healed them with my weird, innate skill.
Today I told her that and she looked at me both dumbfounded and proud, and said, “when are you going to realize I’m your mini-me?”
Every day, babygirl. Every day.