Usually I am up between three and five times during the night. Between feeding Alaina, adjusting Justin's mask, assisting with pottying, cleaning up wet beds, soothing boys awakened with bad dreams, and breaking up fights (this is usually closer to morning when the boys are awake but not allowed out of their room yet). It's not everything every night, but always a different and fun combination. Some wakings are instantaneous and require quick action (like mask slipping) and others ramp up and allow for a calm readjustment from slumber (like Alaina's feedings). The nature of mother-of-young-children's sleep is quite fitful and light and I am pretty sure I share Justin's sleep problem of not getting enough REM sleep in my attempt to be prepared for whatever the night brings.
Thursday night I had one of those instantaneous-requiring-quick-action wakings and I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. In my quest to assess and correct the problem, I managed to kick a piece of furniture and land sprawled out on the floor. Fortunately my cries woke Randy and I sent him to the boys' room (usually the location of the quick-action cries). When he returned I said that I thought I needed ice. He mumbled something non-committal and crawled back into bed. I guess it didn't seem as bad as I felt so I crawled back into bed too. As the sheets settled back over my feet I winced in pain. I told Randy it hurt even for the sheets to rest on my toe. He didn't respond. I spent the next half hour trying to stop writhing and ignore the pain and get back to sleep.
In the morning I checked out my foot and while it hurt to walk, it didn't seem black and blue or swollen so I figured I was okay. After breaking up a fight, I limped back into the bathroom to get ready for the day and when I glanced down I saw the beginnings of purple creeping up from the bottom of my foot around between my toes. Uh-oh. "So do you think you might be able to stay home today, Randy?"
After making arrangements for Travis to get to Art Camp the four of us went to the Walk-In Clinic and settled in for the long haul. Eight x-rays and three hours later it was determined that either: 1- The break from three years ago never healed correctly or 2- I reinjured the same spot. Since I have been walking, running, and carrying children for the past three years with no problem, I am going to go with option number two. Randy summed it up nicely, "So, if you had never broken your foot before you wouldn't have hurt it this time." Yes, that says it all. My klutziness has resulted in two broken feet. They just happen to be the same one...
I happen to have the boot I wore three years ago so I am set until I can go the podiatrist on Monday to determine if further treatment is necessary. Randy has been trying to backtrack and say he just thought I was overexaggerating about needing ice in the middle of the night and that he never heard me say that it hurt for the sheets to be on my foot. I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume I was slightly more awake than he was at that time of night. Of course, he can't say anything about being accident-prone, now can he?
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