In a cast.

Tupperware filled with split peas.  Highly recommended tool for keeping a toddler busy so you can blog.

Before I was in a cast I felt like my life was in a cast.  Now I am in fact, in a cast.  And how do I feel?  I feel like this cast is a high-powered magnifying glass for all the pesky spots of motherhood.  Maybe this wasn’t clear before, but motherhood just hasn’t settled lighly upon me.  I truly and deeply love my children, and would never undo what is done, but taking on this new identity of mom has been uncomfortable.  And now, everything that I complained about before as being frustrating or irritating is flat out difficult, painful and often impossible. 

Even the reason for being in a cast is an ironic attack on one area of freedom I was just beginning to experience—I was on my way to the garage gym I’ve joined to do CrossFit training.  Doing intense regular exercise and seeing physical and emotional improvement has been so helpful toward leading a more balanced life style.  So I was on my way there, riding my bicycle, when I almost got hit by a car and got thrown over the handlebars onto the road—breaking my right wrist in the fall. 

Wear your helmet.  Happy to be alive.

There goes the intense regular exercise for the next 8-12 weeks.  The scale tips back toward imbalanced.

Now lets go through the laundry list of miscellanea that I complained about before:

The menial work of the stay-at-home-mom: diaper changes, meal times, spill clean-ups, outfit changes, etc.  Now that all takes 2-3 times longer with lots of imaginary cursing bubbles coming out of mommy’s head—my 7-month old is incessantly scooting, wiggling, and rolling all over the place while I attempt to reign him in with two feet, my uncoordinated left hand and blunt, useless right cast, hoping he will move in just the right way so that I can wipe his poopy bottom as he rolls over.  Outfit changes occur over 20 minutes while he migrates through rooms of the house.

Getting the toddler cleaned up after a meal?  Well, ‘cooperation’ is the most frequently used word in the house these days…

You get the idea.

Extracting my 23 pound baby from under things all day long is much more difficult with one arm.  My left arm will be ripped by the end of this. 

I complained about not getting out of the house easily with the kids—for errands or playgrounds or whatever.  Now, there is no option to get out.  I cannot get my baby out of the carseat or stroller with one arm.  We are all stuck at home together.

I complained about meal planning, grocery shopping and meal making (I actually like to cook, but not with the cacophony of 5:00 toddler and baby blues).  Now?  I have to write the grocery list with my left hand.  I have to procure a helper to get groceries, and I can’t do any cooking at all.    

I complained about keeping the house tidy—now I can’t do dishes, wipe crumbs off the table, or sweep.  (I can do laundry though!)

I complained about not getting to spend time sewing and generally being creative and expressive—now I cannot sew at all, and even typing out my thoughts for this post? Agonizingly slow…

Oh, and the minor point regarding a mom’s desire to still feel like a beautiful woman despite her physically demanding occupation?  Well I have to learn to do my make-up left handed, and my bald (by choice) husband has to ‘do’ my hair.  Certain areas of my body are not getting their regular visit from the razor, and I have a scar on my chin from the pavement on the intersection of Fife and Melrose.

In sum, all of the little restrictions to my personal (selfish) liberty have become looming boulders and blockades at every turn.    

I don’t believe I am accepting this with much grace.  I’m mad.  I’m bored.  I feel trapped.  But I have 6-8 weeks to adjust my attitude about it all.  Is that good news or bad news?  Hmm.  If I say it’s good news, then I think that is the first step toward an attitude adjustment…

I’m not ready to commit to that yet.

Thanks for stopping by.  I’ll keep you posted.