I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it before, but I have another lovely genetic issue on top of my t1, called osteogenesis imperfecta. It means that my bone fibers (wrong term, but I’m too lazy and in pain and hassled and exhausted to Google the right one) are parallel to each other, instead of interlocking like most people’s, so if I hit a limb wrong, the bones will just kind of sliiiiide apart. I have one of the milder forms. (In some people, the disease actually impacts their height. I’m just short because to the best of my knowledge, there’s never been an Arnold born over 5 feet…) But I do still break bones reasonably often, have a limp from a mis-set leg break, and some weird-ass looking crooked toes.
So speaking of broken bones and toes! Guess who broke two toes this weekend? Not my fault, our house is an obstacle course now of baby crap, and I need to do a lot of dancing Anna around to keep her from screaming. As I was mid-waltz one of the obstacles VEERED out of its PLACE, CHARGED across the room and SLAMMED itself right into my foot! I had never seen anything like it before, and am now convinced our house has been taken over by the undead. (In other words, I am a clutz.) The dancing is the only thing that works to calm Anna, and since I can’t do much dancing now, I’m dealing with a really, really, really unhappy little girl who only naps for about an hour a day and screams at least half of the rest of the time. I feel awful, I know she needs the movement for whatever reason, and I’m doing a modified form of dancing but it makes my toes hurt like hell, and I know I’m only prolonging the time it’ll take for them to heal.
(Not my foot, but I wish it was…A smiley might make everything feel just a little bit better. Also, I needed to insert another pic into this post so that the next image’s grossness didn’t show up on this blog’s home page. In case you didn’t realize, that there was a veiled warning to look away if you are currently eating.)
To top it all off, Jer’s traveling for work all week, so I don’t get the time off I need to recuperate. I usually start counting the hours till 8PM, his usual return-time, but for the next 5 days it’s all me, no breaks (except for the toes, pun intended, sorry.) I’m in tears from the pain, and in tears from Anna’s unhappiness, and in tears from loneliness and in tears because…
…get this. As if things couldn’t get worse, I think we’re going to have to put our cat Lexus to sleep. She’s ancient and goes periodically blind, and craps all over the kitchen floor. (Try dealing with a screaming baby and cat crap in your kitchen at the same time. The cat crap stays there for quite awhile.)
Welcome to my house. Want to stay for dinner? I’m serving refried beans!
Jer wanted to bring Lexus to the vet this weekend to put her down, but I knew I couldn’t stand the pain of losing her without having Jerry here. Pain in the butt though she is, she’s been a part of this family for a very long time, and I love her with all my heart. The idea of her not being around just kills something inside of me, even though I know it’s best for her. I know she’s just asking to be released to play on the kitty farm where there are mice round every corner, and an unlimited supply of tuna flavored meow mix, and all her pain is gone. But I’m too weak, and ultimately selfish, to allow her to leave.
So, in short, whoever invented the acronym FML had nothing on me. Except there are so many wonderful things about my life that I’d expand the acronym to FMUWBNATML (F*** My Usually Wonderful But Not At This Moment Life.) Or maybe just EIYHHYAWYCSPFLGOYEHTAYCSIF: Even If You Have the Husband/Daughter/Job You’ve Always Wanted You Can Still Periodically Feel Like Gouging Out Your Eyeballs and Hurling Them Across Your Cat Shit Infested Floor.
Tell me something that’ll help? Know any good jokes? Anybody? Anybody? I have leftover spare ribs in the fridge, so if I wanted I could eat myself into oblivion. At least there’s that.