In a stunning fit of gracefulness, when I was about 5 weeks pregnant with Amelia I fell down the stairs. That sounds awfully dramatic, doesn’t it? Like I’m being all euphemistic about what happened or something, because by “falling down the stairs” I actually meant that Dave pushed me, or I threw myself, or something equally dramatical.
Alas, no, I am just that clumsy. One look at The Daver would tell you that I really did fall down the stairs. At least, the bottom two.
In doing so, I severely twisted my left foot, and landed myself firmly in the ER, where a puzzled doctor took one look at my purpled and ballooning foot and back at the X-ray and said, “well somehow you didn’t break anything.” Having heard a definite *SNAP* I wasn’t exactly sure about that, but the films showed that my metatarsals were actually intact.
I left in an air cast, ace bandage orders for PRN Tylenol (which, okay, LAUGH because that’s oh-so-effective) and strict orders for elevation and rest. When I stopped laughing because I had a one year old at home who didn’t stop moving, I went home to my highly-annoyed-at-his-clumsy-wife-husband.
I dutifully wore the cast, and was not entirely shocked that with the pregnancy fuck-ton weight gain it didn’t get any better. Finally, I did what I should have done all along–I went to an orthopedic surgeon.
She took a look at the long bones in my foot, manipulated them around, clucked at the X-rays disapprovingly, manipulated my foot again until I cried, and then said, “Well, I’d LIKE to do some more X-rays and an MRI…BUT you’re pregnant. So we can’t do anything. Fractures of the long bones of the feet don’t often show up until days or weeks later.”
She then disappeared for a couple of moments and came back happily with a gigantic black thing which she handed to me.
“Meet your newest shoe!”
For the remainder of my pregnancy I was instructed to wear Das Boot.
It’s like the ugliest thing ever, but I’ll be dipped in dogshit if it’s not the most comfortable thing when your metatarsals are busted and all you can take is motherfucking TYLENOL.
So Das Boot and I were BFF while I was pregnant. We went everywhere together, and let me tell you how people STARED at us. Also, the minute you have a gigantic baby in your belly and a gigantic boot on your foot people assume that you’re pretty much the stupidest person on the planet.
Suddenly, when I was at the store, people would talk to me loudly and slowly as though I couldn’t possibly understand anything at a normal rate. They’d walk behind me so closely and that I’d swear they were auditioning for the role of My Hemorrhoid, but then act furious that I wasn’t walking faster, even though they could have easily skirted around me. I’d get jacked for my place in line, pushed out of the way when I was standing somewhere, and generally shit on.
It was like wearing Das Boot gave other people the right to be an asshole to me.
Pretty sure I scared a good part of the population of St. Charles (and the tri-cities) into being kinder to those with disabilities because anyone who fucked with me heard about it. You don’t fuck with me because you see Das Boot? Das Boot can kick your fucking ass. And if it doesn’t Aunt fucking BECKY will.
So, my foot has been better since I popped Mimi from my nether regions and Das Boot waits in my closet for…something.
Last year, in a fit of masochism I bought the 30 Day Shred, and let it gather dust in my basement. I figured that I might SCARE the rest of the baby weight off by just showing that I’d bought that wretched DVD.
It didn’t work.
So, finally last week, I broke the shrink wrap and popped it into the DVD player; terrified that Jillian Michaels was going to jump out of my TV and call me a fat fucking bitch. Shockingly…she’s cute as a button and the workout is awesome. But remember before you start throwing things at your monitor, that I’m the same person who is planning to learn to SERIOUSLY box and is looking for a local Roller Derby to join.
I’ll admit it, I’m kind of an endorphin junkie, so getting all hopped up on a workout that makes me feel like I’m going to vomit and/or die and then realizing that I didn’t actually die, well, that’s fucking amazing. I thrive on that shit.
But the problem is, it irritates my foot where the fracture didn’t quite heal properly and that makes me Furious George because I can’t go all balls to the wall like I want to. I have to ease into it, and if there’s anything that makes me annoyed, it’s easing into things.
Also things that make me annoyed: being told “no,” Paypal, slippers, reading maps, people who use inspirational quotes without laughing, the color orange, hair product, anything Hallmark, gravity, people who make an “aaaah” noise after they drink, and brass.
Why don’t you gather ’round, Pranksters, and tell Your (gimpy) Aunt Becky what annoys you?