Last Saturday I broke my fifth metatarsal getting undressed. That’s right. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t trying to do anything else at the same time. I was just getting undressed. Trying to take my jeans off I clipped my foot and in between that and landing on said foot I heard a snap. Like a lolly stick. It hurt. I didn’t know whether to cry or throw up.
So after I went on my Christmas do (as you do with a potential broken foot (in my defence it only felt bruised!)) I came home and went to bed with an elevated foot.
The next morning I was in agony, I couldn’t move, so I got my marching orders and took myself off to A&E. Within the hour (impressive for Brighton A&E) I was back home with a massive leg brace and a pair of crutches, and an order to remain like that for six weeks.
I was seriously annoyed. I was annoyed at myself for being so clumsy. Annoyed that I would be calling in sick a week into starting a new job. Annoyed that I would be helpless and reliant on someone else for what felt like a lifetime. I had plans!
I can’t sleep comfortably, I can’t drive, I can’t (properly) clean, I can’t walk the dog, I have to have baths (I hate baths), I can’t even get from one end of the room to the other in less than three minutes. Don’t even get me started on stairs. If I forget anything or drop something I just have to abandon it until someone is passing. It sucks.
I can’t even pick my son up without having to steady myself. By the time I do, the moment has passed and he’s off again. Thank the gods I’m not breastfeeding!
But to hell with it.
I’m going to make the most of this “time off” and do some things for me for a change…
I’m going to organise and sell T’s old baby clothes.
I’m going to get all the blog posts I have drafted in my head onto a keyboard.
I’m going to work on the blog design.
I’m going to start my bullet journal.
I’m going to start my colouring in books.
I’m going to gorge on Netflix.
I’m going to organise the heck out of the Mac.
I’m going READ. Read books, blog posts, comics!
I’m going to remain positive. I’m going to make the most out of it.
T’s certainly making the most out it. He’s watched more CBeebies and Thomas the Tank Engine than he’s ever done in almost two years. Mornings no longer consist of playtime after breakfast but lets sit with/sit on/climb on mummy. It’s great. No, really. I love it.
Mornings never used to happen that way because I was always so busy making our lunch, cooking dinner for later or washing up breakfast, that I often didn’t have time to sit down longer than to finish my morning coffee. T would often have to play by himself for a bit. No wonder he’s making the most of my injury! And so am I. I have no choice but to go with it.
Maybe this is fate’s way of telling me to sit the hell down. I’m sure going to be doing a lot of that for the next six weeks!