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conuly
It's a few blocks from the bus stop to the house, and it was cold outside. Still is. It'd snowed yesterday, Ana was tired because it was naptime, and it was *cold*, and I couldn't even walk fast because of the icy patches on the ground.
Maybe I got impatient and started to rush, I don't know, but I slipped on some ice and came crashing down. Dragged Ana down with me. Almost landed on her. Ana, of course, immediately started crying, she didn't need this so close to naptime. I, however, ignored her because I was concerned about the fact that the baby, strapped to my chest, did *not* start crying. Turns out she was still sleeping. A minor blessing, that.
I'd landed straight on my hip, and wrenched my back, too, trying to keep upright. (Just as well - falling sideways *would* have disturbed the baby, and she's a bit more delicate than I am.)
And it hurt, dammit. And I still had a block and a half to go, plus two flights of stairs to go up. So I tell Ana to get up, struggle my way up, and keep limping on home.
Get the kid to nap in record time, feed the baby her final bottle, get *her* to nap, mend-better the rip in my jeans (I'd temporarily mended it earlier this week, but really really badly, so the stitching unraveled on me. At the museum. Joy. This time I sewed it up properly and stuck a patch on it for good measure), and ended up walking back and forth in the house to get *some* range of motion in my poor leg. My leg kept wanting to turnout, more than I ever do when walking, and that threw me off balance.
Eventually, it good well-enough feeling that I don't think it's seriously injured - I can put weight on it, stand on one foot, all that good stuff - but of course, it still aches. Having had falls like this not that long ago, I anticipate a week of stiffness and wincing, and god only knows how long it'll take for the bruises to fade. Last really big fall I had, landed on my knee (same leg), you could still see the mark a year later.
But nobody was injured, so that's all right. I'm more concerned with this cough. Went the *whole fucking winter* without coughing, and then these past few weeks the weather goes all crazy and brings on my whatever-it-is (I suspect bronchitis, but only because I was told that's what it was when I was a child, I could be completely wrong) that makes me cough. Like always breathing in very cold, very damp air; a knife going straight down the chest.
Maybe I got impatient and started to rush, I don't know, but I slipped on some ice and came crashing down. Dragged Ana down with me. Almost landed on her. Ana, of course, immediately started crying, she didn't need this so close to naptime. I, however, ignored her because I was concerned about the fact that the baby, strapped to my chest, did *not* start crying. Turns out she was still sleeping. A minor blessing, that.
I'd landed straight on my hip, and wrenched my back, too, trying to keep upright. (Just as well - falling sideways *would* have disturbed the baby, and she's a bit more delicate than I am.)
And it hurt, dammit. And I still had a block and a half to go, plus two flights of stairs to go up. So I tell Ana to get up, struggle my way up, and keep limping on home.
Get the kid to nap in record time, feed the baby her final bottle, get *her* to nap, mend-better the rip in my jeans (I'd temporarily mended it earlier this week, but really really badly, so the stitching unraveled on me. At the museum. Joy. This time I sewed it up properly and stuck a patch on it for good measure), and ended up walking back and forth in the house to get *some* range of motion in my poor leg. My leg kept wanting to turnout, more than I ever do when walking, and that threw me off balance.
Eventually, it good well-enough feeling that I don't think it's seriously injured - I can put weight on it, stand on one foot, all that good stuff - but of course, it still aches. Having had falls like this not that long ago, I anticipate a week of stiffness and wincing, and god only knows how long it'll take for the bruises to fade. Last really big fall I had, landed on my knee (same leg), you could still see the mark a year later.
But nobody was injured, so that's all right. I'm more concerned with this cough. Went the *whole fucking winter* without coughing, and then these past few weeks the weather goes all crazy and brings on my whatever-it-is (I suspect bronchitis, but only because I was told that's what it was when I was a child, I could be completely wrong) that makes me cough. Like always breathing in very cold, very damp air; a knife going straight down the chest.
