Not So Much With the Coordination

Last night I laid down with Boodle in an attempt to get her to fall asleep. She'd been feeling poorly over the weekend and was on a wonky sleep schedule. I really wanted her to fall asleep quickly to allow her to be well rested for school the next day.

As I lay there with her, rubbing her back, I was getting kinda antsy, wanting to get back to the living room couch and my remote control. Hello, High Stakes Poker calling! I listened to her breathing, and when she grew still and was breathing deeply, I turned to get out of the bed. She immediately rose up and told me not to go. Turns out she was faking sleep to get me to stay.

Irritated now, I told her to get. to. sleep. We all know that there's nothing like overwhelming pressure to lull you into a dreamless slumber. I laid there staring up at the upper bunkbed, and remembered the post a did a couple of days ago about cherishing these moments with my kids because they are precious and those moments will soon be gone blah blah blah. Okay, God, I hear you. I reached over and stroked her forehead and told her I loved her and just relaxed.

After another few minutes, she was really asleep. However, I didn't want to jostle her, so I slowly rolled a little at a time, lowering one leg then the other to the ground. Now all I needed to do was roll my hips and torso over, and gracefully slide out and make my escape.

Gracefully? Not in my repertoire. I kind of lunged sideways and put my left hand down to catch myself. Listen folks, I'm 5'10" and weigh 180 pounds. I can't sugarcoat that. Catching myself on one hand was a bad, bad idea. I got that hand down, my full weight hit it, and I heard a sickening crunching, tearing sound from the thumb region. Not good.

I came out and immediately told The Man that I had seriously injured my thumb. I somehow rolled/squished it, and I couldn't tell what the actual damage was. He asked a bunch of questions and with help of the World Wide Web, diagnosed me with a dislocated thumb. He told me how to get it back into place, and I calmly and reasonably told him to eff off and punched him with my good hand. Not really, but I couldn't bear to put it back into place myself, so he had to do it.

Dr. The Man rocks, by the way. He got me all fixed up with ice, Ibuprofen and the remote control. Then promptly went to bed so he wouldn't have to listen to my complaining.

Did I mention it was my left thumb and that I'm left handed? My WHOLE day has been a struggle to cope with using my off hand. And have you tried pulling up your pants one handed? Not so easy.

However, I still went mini golfing with Loodle, and I kicked her ASS.