On Saturday afternoon, I pulled a classic me move.
I was out, by myself, picking up our car from the shop where the brakes were being fixed. To do so, I had to drive our 0ther car there -- and I had to do it by myself because the other car doesn't have car seats. The car seats car was the one being repaired.
So the plan was that I would drive down, drop the car off, pick up the fixed car, drive home and then the four of us would drive back to pick up the first car. Complicated I know, but it was only 10 minutes away and it saved everyone involved from having to stand at a bus stop in the freezing cold. (Which is how I got home from dropping off the car in the first place.)
I get to the car shop and parked my other car across the street in the Kelsey's parking lot. I figured this would be ideal, because who would notice an extra car sitting in a restaurant parking lot for a little while? Then I went to cross the street and get my car.
And slipped on some ice. And fell off the side of the sidewalk. And landed on my ass. And heard my ankle -- my bad ankle -- go pop as I fell over it.
(Have I mentioned I have a bad ankle from when I tore a ligament in it 7 or 8 years ago?)
Oh yeah, and I have said already that I was by myself and now had both cars, which meant Ryan was home alone with no cars and two kids.
So I did what any bruised-ego 34-year-old would do while lying on the side of a busy road in pain. I got back up and hobbled my way across the street on nothing but adrenaline. Paid for my car repairs, got my keys, got in my car, called Ryan and cried.
The only good news in all this is that it was my left foot in searing pain, not my right. And since I drive an automatic, I could drive myself home.
Ryan met me at the door and practically carried me in and onto the couch where I stayed for about two hours before we decided I needed to go to the hospital.
We called my parents to come watch the kids and went to spend our Saturday night in the E.R. A far cry from how we spent our Friday night -- out having a nice romantic birthday dinner for two.
The good news? We only spend a little over two hours at the hospital and the x-rays showed that my foot wasn't broken. The bad news? It's just a bad sprain (just, I love how doctors use that word 'just a sprain' like it's no big deal because dammit it hurts) and I have to stay off it for at least 2 to 3 days before I can start putting a little bit of weight on it.
Yup, I'm hobbling around on crutches. And since being a stay-at-home mom on crutches with two young kids in the middle of winter sounds like torture, the three of us have moved into my parents house until I can walk again. My parents are doing most of the looking-after-the-kids work and I'm doing a whole lot of sitting-sitting-around-looking-lazy-while-people-have-to-wait-on-me work.
Hopefully we won't be here long. Not that I don't like being at my parents house, but I would rather prefer being able to walk.
As for falling and spraining my ankle being a dumbass move of the week -- I'd call it a dumbass move of the year, but I did it on January 9, which means there are still 356 days left this year for me to do something else stupid. And this me, so it's bound to happen.