Just like my boy, I've broken a bone. No, he didn't drop me down the stairs. Instead, I succumbed to my own stupidity while playing basketball. I'll leave it at that. Needless to say a broken hand makes life difficult. Taping up my arm at 6am to shower is no easy task. Neither is changing a diaper.
Isaac hasn't noticed. He's paid about as much attention to my injury as he did to his own. He still expects to chase me around the house, wrestle with me and have me give him baths. And while I have been considerably and understandably slowed at tasks around the house and notably at work, his perspective has gone a long way to solidify my own. I am not as adaptable as he was when he broke his leg, that experience is fresh in my mind: the energy and adaptability of a child is truly amazing.
May I be like my son.
8 comments:
Sorry to hear about your accident it is going to be ruff for a while.
Accident? Sure. Yeah. Accident.
If it was'nt a accident what was it thinking you were a Pro
If it was'nt a accident what was it thinking you were a Pro
I guess you should leave the games to the the big boys who can play and not get hurt. Did the Dr. give you a sticker for being a good little boy?
The best solution to your injury is to listen to one of the TV faith healers or current demorat running for office. They will each promise you everything and deliver nothing.
Good luck with the hand/
above was funny
Would Don Johnson break his hand?
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