Pop

Miss S has had a rough time of sorts.

Mind you, she's still happy, busy and did I mention, happy.  She sings.  She dances.  She loves gymnastics class (Nathan goes to gymnastics, too and is getting some mad kick-over skills).

Sometime mid-summer, I picked her up by her ONE ARM.  It's one of those things that you know you're not supposed to do, but you have something in your hand and you think it will be fine.  You know what I mean.

There was a cry in pain.  Lots of crying in pain.  It was awful.

Took her to the Instacare and they checked her over and determined that I'd probably popped her elbow out and said all was well now.

She was still terribly uncomfortable.  I gave her a bath later that evening, and was gingerly patting off her arm.  I very careful wrapped the towel around her arm and, in the process of drying her off, I rotated her wrist and it POPPED.

She jumped in surprise and then said, "OH!  Thank you, Mama!".

It hadn't been her elbow that was popped out - it was her wrist and now it felt much better.

I felt terrible about it.

She seemed to know I felt terrible about it.  She kept bringing it up.  At dinner, she's say, "Guess what!  Mama pick me up and, 'POP" my wrist hurt."

The clincher was when she walked into the room one day, holding her baby doll by one arm.  She lifted her up and said, 'Look, Mama, I'm hurting her wrist."

Delightful.  I get it.  I was stupid,  I"m ten thousand times sorry that I was stupid.

But that was only a small thing compared to what was to come....