.... So Angela, just HOW did you break your toe? Here it goes.
We arrived home from that disastrous trip to the zoo. Preschooler was placated by the promise of eating popsicles outside and playing in the front yard of our condo (remember mistake #3)? Again, I shouldn’t have promised anything. I shouldn’t rely on my ability to DO THINGS.
We walk inside our house only to find ... maintenance workers cleaning our gutters. Not cleaning the neighbor’s gutters. Not a note that they will cleaning our gutters tomorrow. No. Their ladder is parked outside my kitchen window, all our things are moved off of the patio and onto the lawn, and they are using my patio table to store their tools.
We can’t play outside.
After bombarding Preschooler with more popsicles and lollipops AND finger-paint, I convey the whole story to my sister, who wisely says:
"Please stay home and do nothing but watch tv with your babies... ok?"
But do I listen to her? No. Because I am committed to DOING THINGS, and figure that if I’m stuck inside I might as well clean my filthy house.
This shall be known as mistake number four.
So, I wash my dishes. I clean my kitchen. I dust my living room. I stub my toe on a chair. My toe turns purple and swells up.
"GAH! That hurt! Oh crap! Jesus Christ!"
One hour later... "Damnit! It hurts even more! What the hell?"
Another hour later.... "Ok, I am in serious pain. This involves tears. The last time I was in pain that caused tears, I was giving birth. Crap! I'm going to urgent care."
Honest to God, on a scale of one to ten, where one equals "I feel happy!" and ten equals "OMG I'm in labor GET ME AN EPIDURAL RIGHT NOW. WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M TOO FAR ALONG FOR AN EPIDURAL? GAAAAAAAAAH!" this pain was about a seven. Please consult this expert pain chart (created by Allie Brosh at Hyperbole and a Half) for a more detailed explanation.
So I head off to urgent care only to find out I broke my toe. But I didn’t just break my toe. I chipped it. Now their is a piece of bone fragment floating around in the middle toe on my right foot.
Again, I must ask:
Middle toe on my right foot means I have to hobble around on my heel, and now my heel hurts.
Middle toe on my right foot means I can’t drive, because I can’t put pressure on that foot.
Middle toe on my right foot means I need to be baby-sat, because the vicodin I take for the pain makes me loopy and exhausted, and oh yeah, I can’t walk.
Lesson learned: NEVER TRY TO DO THINGS AGAIN.
Update: Seeing as I broke my toe on Tuesday, and it is now Friday, I was tired of going stir-crazy and decided to go for a walk with my girls. Don't judge - I was barely limping at all. Actually, judge. Because naturally Toddler bolted for the street, and I had to run after her. Now I'm in serious pain again. Apparently not only am I bad at DOING THINGS, I'm also bad at NOT DOING THINGS.