Battle Scars

Friday morning I was pleasantly dozing in my comfortable bed. Far from my mind were any thoughts of work, school, family, and financial obligations. I was probably dreaming of taking a nice leisurely stroll through a snow-draped meadow, or something equally opposite from this horrid heat. My dream was short-lived, unfortunately, as I was ripped out of it by the screams of my eldest son, Carver. 

His was not a whimper of hunger, or a forlorn sigh of boredom. These were full out screams of pain. I, the protector of the household, was instinctively drawn out of my slumber, and instantly fully alert. Without a second thought, I burst from the comfort of my covers, leapt over the bed, landed with a crack, and charged to find my wounded offspring, limping like a clumsy oaf.

It turned out that Carver had fallen off the couch while watching his morning show. His pride was hurt the most, and his side was a little red from the impact. I, on the other hand, must have landed with all of my weight on my second and third toes of my left foot. I will not lie – the pain was significant. I thought I had probably broken at least one of the toes. By the evening, after limping around campus and our home, I took off my shoe to assess the damage. Both toes were a deep purple, somewhat swollen, and still hurt about as much as in the morning. 

Fortunately, after a bit of icing and elevating, and a good night’s rest, the little piggies who stayed home and had roast beef (respectively) are feeling much better, and looking much less purple. I think I must have simply jammed them badly, but I do not think they are broken. I can walk with only a slight limp, and they don’t hurt unless I try to bend them. I expect to make a full recovery this coming week.

Oh, and Carver’s mishap with the couch didn’t even leave a mark.

#Happenings #OnParenthood