So here’s the grand story of how I broke my foot…
On December 30, I was taking out the trash and stepped off the half-inch step-down between our garage and our driveway, rolled my ankle, and fell straight to the ground. It hurt, but I sort of do things like that all the time, so I figured I’d be fine after the initial shock wore off.
Wrenn saw me gasp in pain as I went down and came running over.
“Mama – do you have a boo boo?”
“Yes, mama has a boo boo.”
And then she reached out, laid a hand on me, closed her little eyes, and prayed, “GOD, HELP MOMMY TO FEEL BETTER!” with as much conviction as I’ve ever seen anybody pray.
And then she opened her eyes and anxiously asked, “Mommy, do you feel better?”
Oh sweet child, I love your spirit. And no, mommy didn’t feel better. But it was still the kindest prayer ever.
As the minutes passed, my foot started to hurt worse. I was pretty sure it was broken – but I’m also no wimp. I was in the midst of my annual “It’s New Year’s so I must organize my whole house” project (it’s a thing, y’all), so after sitting down for 15 minutes, I was back up, organizing every drawer and closet in my house, and prepping for our New Year’s Eve party the next day.
The following day, I cleaned the house, decorated for the party, took Wrenn for her first haircut (bless), went shopping, and then came home and an hour before our guests arrived, I cried to Mr. Right because MY FOOT HURT SO MUCH I COULDN’T STAND IT. But not enough to run to the doctor, because, hello, we had a party to host. Pass me the Advil, please. (I’ll admit – I mostly just wanted some sympathy from Mr. Right.)
I stood on my foot through the entire party, and the next morning (New Year’s Day) was at the urgent care office near my house when it opened getting x-rays. Indeed, I broke my foot (my fifth metatarsal) and will get to wear a fabulous knee-high boot for about six weeks. But I’m also going to live – no surgery. Praise the Lord.
The boot is kind of annoying, but not really a huge deal. After birthing a baby, this broken foot is about a 3.5 on a scale of 1-10. And there’s some perks: I never have to worry about finding matching shoes, or even matching socks… there’s no pressure to wear heels (not that I wore them anyway)… and the boot is a great conversation starter with strangers.
What stupid way have you hurt yourself? I’d love to hear your story in the comments, so I don’t feel like I’m the only one.