Last weekend we decided to take The Spawn to the park.  This one is a 1.4mile walk each way, uphill homeward bound.

Everything was looking Idyllic; the skies were blue, the birds were cheeping, the sun was shining, the blossom danced in a gentle breeze and the bluebells nodded as we passed.  Even The Spawn were uncharacteristically behaving, if you ignore Thing One's usual need to pee al fresco as we pondered our way through the woodland.

Then ouch.

I neither fell, stumbled nor tripped.

I have 'weak ankles', there's a rather suspicious triangle of missing ligament in them, the ligament that is there is 'too stretchy'.  Throughout my life I've been on crutches more times then I can remember yet only once was a bone broken.  As a child it would be crutches and a pot leg, as I grew older it became crutches and a tubagrip followed by physiotherapy and these days it's a string of unspeakables followed by limping around for a week or two.  I was offered an operation to attempt to help them but in all honesty, it seemed far more debilitating with debilitating pain then it was worth, at the time.  I incidentally missed six weeks of my first year of high school, half my fourth year and half my fifth year through essentially, crap ankles.

The problem these days is that over the years I've become somewhat immune to the pain.  Of course it hurts, it bloody bastard hurts yet I'm now able to hobble onwards and get on with it so to speak, something which can exacerbate the injury.  I have a very warped judgement of pain there.  When I should be in enough pain not to walk at all on it, i'll plod on 'owing'.

It was a strange feeling, more nauseating at first then painful as I felt my ankle slip out of joint one side and then double whammy, it immediately went the other way too.  It's akin to a banana being split and tugged in opposing directions whilst the skin stays intact.  Sometimes, this will happen and if I spend a moment gathering my breath it will ease within the hour.  Other times it's frightfully buggered.  Like this time.

This isn't what you want when you're a 1.4mile walk away from home. Arse.

Once at the park I found a rock to sit on.  There were benches, yet people have the habit of sitting next to you if you plant yourself on a bench.  

So there I sat, ankle throbbing yet held together by my trusty Dr Martens boots as I watched The Spawn prance about in the sun around the park pondering how one was going to make it home.

I swallowed my pride.  I text The Brother, fully expecting him to be out.  He wasn't. Better still he agreed upon a rescue mission.  One he would later come to regret as upon parking at the top of my road he manages to scrape his new tyres losing a chunk out of one and scraping the hub caps something terrific.  He was not a happy bunny.  Think huge man (height and width) jumping up and down on the spot turning epic shades or red whilst changing the colour of the air with profanity.  His posh car is his baby.  His pride and joy.  I was awfully grateful for the rescue yet I must admit, I was finding it terribly hard not to laugh.  Oopsie.  I've never once proclaimed to be a good sister.

So that one fateful trip to the park has resulted in a hefty repair bill for The Brother and a week of being unable to walk and considerable pain for me.  Happy days.

Feet

<=== Is the sight that greeted me when I glanced at The Toddler fast asleep next to me in my bed last night.  Usually he sleeps in a fleece all-in-one over his jimmies as he undoubtedly wriggles and kicks off all blankets and that way I have the reassurance that no matter what acrobatics he practises, he'll not get cold.  Not to mention he looks absolutely adorable in one.  Yet The Toddler finds it hilarious to take it off, then hand back to me to put on again, rinse and repeat.  Needless to say I don't share his enthusiasm in this game, not even a little, not even at all.  I put my foot down last night and after putting it on  for the second time I declared 'No More', so he snuggled down for a mammoth boobing session and fell asleep.  Hence the gorgeous wee bare foot.

As a rule, I hate feet.  I find them abjectly hideous.  The Husband lives in the knowledge that he will never ever have his toes sucked nor a foot rub and if his foot so much as brushes any part of my anatomy, I'm liable to yelp, shudder then attack....viciously. The mere thought of adult feet (other then my own fair ones) sends my gag reflex into spasm and yet baby feet are simply adorable and beg to be sniffed affectionately and kissed.  It seem's like only  yesterday when The Toddler's feet were newborn, wrinkly and utterly scrumptious and the sight of plasters on them made me weep as they had to keep stealing his blood.

Now they're smooth and pesky and like to be 'sniffed' as you say 'pooooooooooooooooooo! stinky feet!' which makes The Toddler writhe in raptures of hysterics, squealing with delight.

On the subject of feet and indeed The Toddler, the poor darling managed to trip over thin air today.  I was busy bollocking refereeing  Thing One and Thing Two upstairs when I heard him wail.  When I came down despite being comforted by The Husband he was still sobbing his little heart out, most unlike him.  Usually when he has a little stumble he'll point to the offending appendage, hold it out to be kissed then be off again on his merry exploratory way.  Scooping him up he immediately burrowed for booby and yet despite curling into my side his suckling was punctuated by small gasped sobs.  Strange.  Booby fixes everything usually.

He kept pointing at his wee foot, which seemed neither red, swollen nor bruised and yet he'd take a few steps then burst into tears.  Up the stairs I carried him, slathered his entire foot/ankle/toes in Arnica cream, gave a spoonful of paracetamol and then snuggled him as he furled into me and fed and fed....and fed.  What do you know, he's now walking fine.  Arnica is an absolute wonder in this house, The Husband is a total and absolute sceptic yet I see proof of it's power all the time and simply wouldn't be without it. 

I also love the undoubted comfort breastfeeding provides him whether he's tired, ill, frightened or hurt.....a cuddle and feed is like Valium to him, a total smile bringer.

I dread the day when his problems can't be cured with a simple kiss and a cuddle yet for now, i'll cherish them and be grateful that I can fullfill my job description of 'cure all' aka Mum.