Mortification
It's a word. Look it up in the Geneva Convention and you will find my picture next to it. Thursday, I flew with the kids by myself to Florida for my sister's graduation. Was very stressed. Cried three times before we got on the plane. Nothing had happened, I was just crying in anticipation. Luckily, everything was awesome: I had the two kids in the stroller; I put Gabi's car seat in the travel bag and flung that over my back, backpack style; I hung the black duffle bag on a hook off the side of the stroller; I hung the diaper bag over my right shoulder and used my right hand to pull the suitcase; I put Colton's car seat in the crook of my left arm and used my left hand to push the stroller. These people who say they can't push a stroller and carry a suitcase are pansies. Once I checked in, it was just the stroller, duffle and diaper bag. Awesome. Everything was peeeeerfect. Kids were angels. My mother in law must have used her red line (the one that goes straight to God's office and trumps all other calls) because I had no issues. Everyone helped me every step of the way.
We make it off the flight and out to the curb with all our stuff to meet my sister. So excited. I even comment to the woman standing there awing at my awesomeness that I am truly fabulous because we made it through the whole experience with no problems. I see she is impressed, like me. I get Colton in his car seat and step off the curb to put him in my sister's car. The next thing I know, I have a searing shooting pain in my left foot, I've dropped the baby and I would be laying on the ground except for some man who must have been stalking me in my shadow was holding me up. I think I broke my ankle. How? Who knows. I was walking a few years ago and my foot broke. I don't pretend to understand bones... or feet.
It hurts so bad, since it was at the airport and on camera, they call an ambulance. Do you know what accompanies an ambulance? Thaaaaat's right. A FIRE TRUCK. Blaring it's horn. Because apparently I am a flaming emergency. And people are staring. And I am mortified. But I can't move. Meanwhile my resident husband is on the phone telling me, "don't you dare get in that ambulance! Don't you dare!" I didn't dare. And according to Gabriela, "That's MOMMY'S fire truck. That's MY ambulance." Of course its hers. Why wouldn't it be? Everything in our apartment is hers, including my underwear so why the heck shouldn't she own an ambulance, too?
Ahhhh.... after doing all my "ortho tests" over the phone, we conclude it is a sprain. A very bad sprain indeed. Swelled up to the size of a baseball within a few hours. But my mother in law used her red line again and it shrinks to a golf ball. By the next day, we are up and walking. No pain, no gain. There must be a looooot of gain.
Oh, my left foot.
We make it off the flight and out to the curb with all our stuff to meet my sister. So excited. I even comment to the woman standing there awing at my awesomeness that I am truly fabulous because we made it through the whole experience with no problems. I see she is impressed, like me. I get Colton in his car seat and step off the curb to put him in my sister's car. The next thing I know, I have a searing shooting pain in my left foot, I've dropped the baby and I would be laying on the ground except for some man who must have been stalking me in my shadow was holding me up. I think I broke my ankle. How? Who knows. I was walking a few years ago and my foot broke. I don't pretend to understand bones... or feet.
It hurts so bad, since it was at the airport and on camera, they call an ambulance. Do you know what accompanies an ambulance? Thaaaaat's right. A FIRE TRUCK. Blaring it's horn. Because apparently I am a flaming emergency. And people are staring. And I am mortified. But I can't move. Meanwhile my resident husband is on the phone telling me, "don't you dare get in that ambulance! Don't you dare!" I didn't dare. And according to Gabriela, "That's MOMMY'S fire truck. That's MY ambulance." Of course its hers. Why wouldn't it be? Everything in our apartment is hers, including my underwear so why the heck shouldn't she own an ambulance, too?
Ahhhh.... after doing all my "ortho tests" over the phone, we conclude it is a sprain. A very bad sprain indeed. Swelled up to the size of a baseball within a few hours. But my mother in law used her red line again and it shrinks to a golf ball. By the next day, we are up and walking. No pain, no gain. There must be a looooot of gain.
Oh, my left foot.
Comments
Post a Comment