Giving In

I am not a bath person. This hasn't always been the case; I remember taking periodic baths in high school, and I distinctly remember when I had to adapt to taking showers instead of baths as a child.* But as some point I started getting itchy just thinking about sitting in dirty bath water. I have marathoning friends who swear by ice baths after long runs, but I've always found that cold showers work just fine for me.

But I am really tired of the swelling. Yesterday at our last childbirth prep class, our teacher commented on my feet, recommending I get myself to a pool. Which I know, and which I really mean to do... at some point soon. Anyway, last night Morgan offered to clean the bathtub so that I could try taking a bath.** I didn't take him up on the offer, but this morning when I woke up with the same puffy feet and fingers so stiff I couldn't make a fist (its been really warm), I decided it was worth a try. I scrubbed out the bathtub with vinegar and baking soda (because the thought of bathing in traditional cleansers makes me even itchier than the thought of dirty water), dumped in a bunch of epsom salts... and sat there.

It did help. I had a prickly, feeling returning to fingers tingling, and my ankles are definitely slimmer. The top of feet are still puffy, but the improvement was noticeable. Which I guess means I should keep up with it or something. Despite the boredom, despite the slight ick factor, despite the discomfort. Sigh.

* The first apartment that my mom, sister and I lived in by ourselves. It was also the first Christmas I spent without a fireplace, and I was very concerned about how Santa would visit (even though I was terrified of him). My mom explained that Santa had a tiny little elf who worked as a key so Santa could let himself into the apartment without needing a chimney.

** We've lived here for four years, and never used the bathtub for a bath. The cats eat in the bathtub. When I explained this to our vet for some reason, she asked if they were afraid of drive-bys.