Late afternoon yesterday, I was bringing my two extremely overtired children home from nursery. It was about to pour and I really needed to get them, all their kit and me into the house before it did so. I hitched the sobbing two year old onto my already dicky hip, slung their two incredibly heavy nursery bags (filled with peed in pants) over my shoulder and attempted to carry the two new recycling boxes that had been left in our drive, all while chivvying along the 4 year old.
One minute I was upright. The next I had collapsed in a small heap with the two year old firmly planted in a bush, and moving swiftly from sobbing to hysteria. I had gone over my ankle. The pain was so bad, I couldn't even whisper the numerous four letter words that were trying to escape from my mouth.
Initially finding it quite amusing, the 4 year old quickly started to realise something wasn't quite right when mummy had tears streaming down her face. So he started to cry too. So that was the three of us blubbing. If only the neighbours could have seen us.
'Get up mummy, get up,' he pleaded. So trying to be a good mother, I attempted to stand up but immediately realised that it was a thoroughly stupid idea so sat right back down again. Cue even more crying from the now bewildered and very frightened little boys. And even more crying from a bewildered and frightened mummy who couldn't quite see how this situation was going to work itself out.
What a bloody nightmare. So I attempted to scooch along on my arse toward the front door. Not an insignificant length journey that also includes three steps down and one up. I begged son number one to bring the bags in so that they wouldn't get wet in the rain. But bless his sweet soul, he didn't want to put down the presents he'd made for his daddy for Father's Day in case they got dirty. So he passed them to me, which I clenched in my teeth while doing my bum scooch leaving him free to drag the bags along, all with tears streaming down his little face. A contender for top place in the list of 'thoroughly crap parenting moments'.
I finally got inside and tried to cajole the 4 year old to go fetch his hysterical younger brother, who at this stage had completely peed his pants and was refusing to move from the top step despite the rain. At long last we were all in doors. I then had to instruct a very distraught 4 year old to find the phone (could have been anywhere) and bring it to me so that I could call for help. Husband was well over an hour a way in London. Luckily I managed to reach a friend and our childminder who both raced over. Before they got there though, my little star 4 year old had even managed to get a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer, wrapped it in a towel and helped me apply it to my ankle. Bless.
We then had an interesting hop around the local minor injuries unit where I was exposed to a woman who was patently in the wrong career. The delightful woman - who I assume was a nurse - told me to follow her. She disappeared leaving me to lean on my friend while I hopped, each hop jarring my now hugely swollen ankle. Not an especially pleasant trip. When we finally got to the nurse, she had the gall to say: 'Take your time why don't you'. It was a good thing they hadn't offered me crutches or else she might have been walloped round the head with them.
Turns out, after the most cursory of examinations, that I had a serious ankle sprain. At least it wasn't a break although that sounds more dramatic and would give me a cast that my children could colour in. My instructions were to keep the foot elevated, put some ice on it and rest.
So that I what I am now attempting to do. Only, I have two small bored boys who think mummy hopping about is a great lark and keep nagging for me to do more of it. They also seem to find the gap beneath my raised leg and the sofa a great place to build a den, fully equipped with noisy plastic toys. Meanwhile, it being Father's Day weekend should have seen my husband sitting on his bum doing nothing. Instead he's quickly coming to terms with what it means to be a mother. And I don't think he'll be applying for a full time position any time soon.
Must go. Apparently son number 2 had emptied the contents of a kitchen drawer on the floor, son number 1 'CAN'T FIND A PUDDING YOGURT!!!' and husband is cursing both of them. Happy father's day dear.
2 comments:
Bless your heart.
I sympathise. When Tilly was 14 months I had her in the bath, was sitting on the floor reading my book. Got up to get her out and my hip went. I was in agony. Took forty minutes to get her out the bath. Another twenty to crawl to phone with naked toddler. Husband not answering, nobody but my mum around. She drove 1 and a half hours up the M1 to find me sobbing on the floor being circled delightedly by a naked child who had just done a pooh and was running through it. Thank god for wooden floors and mothers.
God Katyboo, yours sounds far worse than mine. Think I would have been in hysterics by then. Oh well, it's the perfect excuse for more wine. A lot more.
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