The Fretful Mother's Blog

Within the last few days, I’ve had my mother cut up my food, my 10-year-old daughter claim she was ready to drive and an 80-year-old woman volunteer to open the door for me. The reason behind all these things? Dinosaurs.

Last week, my 8-year-old son left his pajamas on the floor. My daughter was sick that day, so I took my son out to the bus stop. He then realized he had forgotten his library book. Being a stickler for due dates myself, I ran back into the house to beat the distant sounds of the approaching bus. I snatched the book (“How to Draw Dinosaurs”) in time, only to be foiled by pajamas. As soon as I stepped on the pajamas (which also had dinosaurs on them), I knew I was in trouble.

My movements seemed to be in slow motion, though there wasn’t any time to do anything about it. I had been moving straight ahead, and then I wasn’t. I was moving down and to the right at a comical speed. My hand hit first, then my elbow and then my head. After the first wave of nausea, my first thought was how to get this book turned in on time. My daughter jumped to my aid. “Are you alright?” she asked. “No,” I said. “But we must get this book to the bus stop.”

She delivered the book while I lie writhing on the floor. I had become the old lady from the commercial. You all know which one I’m talking about. “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up” became my mantra. After awhile, I got to my feet and decided I hadn’t died. Then I headed to work.

Did you all notice something here? First of all, I left my sick daughter home alone, and second of all, I did not call an ambulance or poison control. All this time I’ve thought I was getting healthier, but I turns out I’ve been letting the danger win.

It was not until after my co-workers insisted I’d need to use my left arm at some point and that maybe a 103-degree fever was a sign of illness in my daughter that I decided to head to urgent care the next day (oh, also I woke up in the middle of the night and threw up from the pain). Yes, according to medical professionals who were not myself, my daughter had strep throat, and yes I needed painkillers. Later that evening, the doctor called to inform me that I did indeed have a broken arm.

I had always wanted one. As a child, I envied the other children who climbed trees without seeming to care about their lives. Their rewards were broken bones with casts upon which all sorts of well-wishes could be imparted. I wanted to be a walking billboard too. I was envisioning this life-long dream when I heard the doctor say, “You’ll just need to be in a sling for a few weeks.” A sling? A sling is for wussies.

All was for naught. There would be no cast. I would just be the pathetic woman for whom her mother had to cut her dinner, her daughter was concerned enough about her driving to volunteer to take over the vehicile, and for whom a little old lady wanted to open the door. NO! I wanted to shout at them. I am one of those kids who is not afraid to climb trees, or jump off the swing while it’s still in motion, or to sleep in a bunkbed. I can cut my own damn meat, drive my own damn car, and open my own damn door. But instead I said thank you and glared at my meshy nylon sling.

I will never be fearless. But I will never again be taken by surprise. The fear is back on, and I’m starting with dinosaurs. Their extinction means nothing. You can never be too safe.

This entry was posted on February 20, 2011 at 6:40 pm and is filed under Fear of the Day. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.