It's the end of a CA-razy week. Last Tuesday I lost Fish. Friday I turned thirty. Saturday we all got the flu and Pillbug cut the tip of her finger off. Today my back decided to spasm.
So, here I sit.
Here are the details of each event. Tuesday: Fish squeezed his little-big behind through a hole that he had made in our fence and then into our neighbor's fenced-in backyard. Many folks helped me search for him and he was gone a total of 15-20 minutes. It seemed like a lifetime. He patted me on the shoulder when our neighbor brought him back and said, "It's okay Mama. Don't cry. It's okay." The little buggar.
Friday: 30. 'nough said.
Saturday: I woke up thinking my hormones were to blame for feeling like a Bitch (and trust me, it deserves that capital B!), but it turned out I, and the rest of my family, was just getting a stomach bug. Of the vomiting variety. Great. It hit Ben first. Then Treefrog. I held it together until about 4 pm and asked if I could take a shot at laying down since I was feeling queasy too. I had been in our bed for roughly two minutes when I heard The Scream. I bolted out of bed and met Ben at our bathroom door. He was holding our screaming Pillbug who was missing the tip of her finger. Sweet Treefrog had been trying to bring Ben a glass of water since he was throwing up. Ben told Treefrog to shut the door so Pillbug didn't follow him in and Treefrog shut it rather aggressively, taking Pillbug's middle finger with it. Oh, that image is hard for me to remember. She and I rode in an ambulance to our Children's hospital and met our favorite ER doc. He gave her six stitches and sent us on our way. Tylenol and Ibuprophen are working wonders at controlling her pain. I found out today that she really likes to look at it and try to pull the stitches out. Apparently, it isn't bothering her too much.
Today: Scene - lunch time in a typical American house. Mama is shredding cheese for quesadillas. Friend of the Dad, J is keeping Pillbug from clawing at Mama. Mama is looking uncomfortable.
Mama: Gosh, I really need to crack my back. And if I am ever rich I am buying all my cheese pre-shredded!
Dad enters kitchen.
Mama: Oh, I'm glad you're home! If you pick me up to crack my back, will it work in the middle?
Dad: Yeah, it should.
Mama: Wait! You have a broken back. You can't lift me!
Dad: Yes I can!
Dad begins chasing Mama around trying to pick her up.
Mama: Joke's over! Stop it!
Mama lays on floor and swings legs from side to side to stretch and crack her back. She attempts to get up from the floor and at that moment realizes she has made a mistake. A very. big. mistake.
Yes, this is my life. One child who is an escape artist, one with stitches, and me not being able to move an inch without shooting pain in my back. Oh to be 29 again!