Last night, Captain Adventure hurt his wrist. Basically, daddy was taking him down the hall and he didn’t want to go so he threw himself down and his wrist went ‘pop!’
Just a crack. Like my joints do about sixty gazillion times a day. Nothing that made anybody say, “ACK! Medic!”
He cried off and on all night. Of course, he’s getting over an ear and throat infection, so, you know, here’s some more ibuprofen, kid. A little cuddling and then back in the crib you go. I knew his wrist was bugging him, but honestly – I expected that by this morning he’d be over it.
Alternatively…he could be clutching the wrist whimpering and crying, and, if you even breathe on it, he lets out a piercing shriek of pain.
It still hurts.
It still hurts a lot.
But there’s nothing there. No bruises, no swelling, no sign of trauma, absolutely nothing about that chubby little toddler wrist / hand that would make you say, “Oh my gosh, he’s obviously discombobulated his fizzerwhatzer!”
However, there is no arguing with his reactions. Seriously, it hurts a lot. So it doesn’t matter that I can’t see anything there, he’s going to the doctor today to have a professional look at it. Undoubtedly, they will say, “Yeah, looks like a sprain – ice and ibuprofen, that’ll be $350 please.”
And now that I’m past the initial frantic stage of OH MY GAWD WHAT DO I DO?! and have moved on to the logistics of the day (How to get the older two to and from school when Captain Adventure shrieks in agony when jostled? Do I take Boo Bug at all? Which is harder, having her underfoot too, or having to deal with a second school dropoff/pickup?), it occurs to me: this is the tenth day this month that I have either called in sick altogether or been partially out of commission or otherwise unable to go about my life as usual.
Is it just me…or is that a touch ridiculous?
As I cast back over my calendar, I am seeing an average of one doctor’s appointment per week since Thanksgiving. Ear infection. Stomach flu. Strep throat. Broken toe. Strep throat again. Ear infection. Ear infection. Cut open head. Ear infection. Generic cold and cough.
And now, what, sprained toddler wrist?
Honestly, I am really starting to wonder what the holy @*^&@ is going on here.
There are zillions of working parents out there who somehow manage to put in a full week, week after week.
Me, I can’t seem to get a single full week without something going down.
These are the times when I just want to scream, “I QUIT!” into the phone, throw my laptop out the window and retreat to my knitting chair for the rest of my life.
Well, like good old FDR said, “When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.”
And also, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.”
Which of course leads to the following declaration: It does absolutely no good to go all jelly-legged and swoony in the face of the things that upset us. Dwelling and worrying and fretting and feeling sorry for myself never does a thing for me – it only magnifies the issue(s) until, like a carnival fun-house, the little things seem huge and fat while the thing that really will cut the legs out from under us like a scythe hitting wheat stalks looks like nothing bigger than a plastic picnic knife, which makes it all the easier to sneak up on me from out of nowhere and WHACK!
Ooooooh, that’s gonna leave a mark…
A good deep breath, a moment to collect oneself, a setting aside of emotion and panic to think, and then…putting forth the needed efforts to convert retreat into advance, disorder into order, suffering into calm, shattered plans into new success.
SO I WILL!
AND I SHALL START…with another triple low-fat sugar-free mocha…
…after which, appropriately caffeinated…
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