Some weeks I have to sit and ponder for a bit when it comes to this post. Channel my inner rage about things that have happened before, or things happening far away or things that really don't affect me directly at all.
Not this week.
Asthma can kiss my ass
I currently have a sobbing little boy next to me. Bags under his eyes, the barometer I use to tell how he's really doing. Just like his sister. He hasn't been sleeping well, which means I haven't either. He was formally diagnosed with asthma yesterday since he gave the doctor no choice but to officially call it. He's wheezing and coughing and miserable, on steroids. Again. Asthma is at the top of the list of things I hate having passed down to my kids.
His big sis isn't struggling as bad as he is with it currently, but she's got a big test coming up. A soccer tournament. Her team is smaller this time around than it's been, meaning there won't be many subs on the bench. She's going to be out there for the entire game, and her mother is going to be a nervous wreck on the sidelines.
Murphy & his flipping law
By now, anyone who knows us in real life or has read here long enough knows that we are an exceedingly injury prone family. We have a lot of surgeries. We break bones. We keep orthopedists in business. It's kinda our thing.
When I got the text from my husband Saturday morning, I was in denial for a while. Maybe it's not what he thinks it is. Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe.
I knew better. Playing in his district finals for tennis, he'd gone to chase down a ball and heard the characteristic pop that can only mean one thing. He'd ruptured his Achilles. Completely. I'm taking him to the orthopedist in a little while to schedule his surgery.
He'll be on crutches for months.
Complicating the entire situation is the fact that we just changed insurance. We don't even have cards yet. Four days into new coverage and someone needs surgery. We do like to get those pesky deductibles out of the the way.
Dammit Jim, I'm a parent, not a coach
Which brings me to this. I'm channeling Star Trek this morning. My husband had already signed up to coach little boy's first soccer team before he got hurt. Little boy knows this. Little boy is abundantly aware that Daddy is hurt and can't coach. Little boy wants his mom to do it.
Which would be me.
I'm about to be a soccer coach. Of a team of 3 year olds. Holy shit.
I so did not sign up for this.
But, like so many things in my life, that doesn't matter.
Builds character, right???
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