Sometimes the universe smacks you with a sign you can’t ignore. Last week, Wyatt and I had lunch with a friend. I told her that I needed to slow down – to take all of life in, to not force decisions, to go with a natural flow.
The next morning, I broke my ankle.
I was on my way out the front door with the diaper bag over my left shoulder, Wyatt on my left hip and our 2 chihuahuas in their crate in my right hand. I’m not 100% sure what happened. I think the dogs shifted in their crate as I stepped off our last step onto the lawn. My left ankle gave out. I heard a loud pop and went down. The Mom in me was focused on making sure Wyatt didn’t fall. He was fine. I sat up and knew that my ankle wasn’t. I called my husband and we sat on the lawn until he got home to rescue us.
I didn’t want to be doing what I was headed out to do that day. Wyatt was supposed to spend his 2nd time at daycare while I ran the dogs to the vet. I had asked my husband to take the time off to take the dogs, but he couldn’t get it off. Isn’t it ironic that he ended up home anyway?
It’s only a small fracture. I joke that it hurts way less than my major sprain from 4 years ago. The physical pain isn’t what’s getting to me though. It’s the guilt from not being able to 100% take care of my son.
Until I got my walking boot the next day, I had to be completely off my ankle. That first day my husband did everything for Wyatt and handed him to me when it was time to nurse. We dropped him at daycare when we went to the hospital to get the walking cast. Wyatt had an absolute meltdown when we picked him up. It was a combo of being up way earlier than he usually is and a case of missing Mom. We normally do everything together and now he has to get used to being with Dad way more.
It’s been 3 days since I broke it. I’m getting around much better today, but I’m still not stable enough to walk on the boot while holding my son. We live in a 4-level split home with 6 stairs between the main floor and the bedrooms. I’m worried about how to get Wyatt downstairs in the mornings once Mike returns to work on Tuesday (we have a holiday here in Canada tomorrow). I’m thinking it may be easiest to go down on my bum with him on my lap. Right now, it seems like it would have been much easier if he wasn’t mobile or was walking on his own. Crawling has it’s limitations.
Mom guilt is totally taking over. I wanted to enjoy the rest of my maternity leave. Now, I’m going to spend it hobbling around unable to do all of the activities that Wyatt and I had been enjoying so far this summer – swimming, spray parks and our daily walks. I’m just going to have to find a way to be more present in a slower pace. I have had friends tell me that I should have a better idea of what I can accomplish with the boot on at the one-week post injury mark.
My husband deserves a gold star. He finally gets what it’s like to have the baby full-time… except now he needs to stop bitching about it.
I miss my boy though. I mean I still get him. I’m still here. But, my husband has taken over many of my Mom duties and it’s making me sad. I can’t get to him as fast. I can’t hold him on that knee for as long. I can’t take him for a stroller walk. But, I can still make the most of it. Tonight, we sat on the floor playing together. I have a feeling this incident will encourage me to get down to Wyatt’s level and enjoy life from his perspective a bit more.