Like mother, Like son

 

 

When I was a kid, I broke my arm...twice. Each time because I disobeyed. True story. The first time I did it (4 years old?), we were in the middle of no where in Arizona on vacation. Dad had put Mom, Christa, and I up in a tree for a picture and told me to wait for help to get down. I didn't wait. I fell and hit my right arm on a rock. On the drive to the hospital - in who knows where, full of many many pregnant women - I heard my parents say that my arm was probably broken. I looked over at my arm propped up on my cabbage patch doll, and started to panic. I knew that when dolls' arms broke, they just fell off. I didn't want my arm to fall off. Thankfully, it didn't. I do have a couple of sad pictures of me though with really long hair, sitting on the side of the pool because I couldn't swim, and singing in a preschool program with my broken arm. The next time (a year later?), I broke the rules again when I rode my bike down the "hill" on my street instead of just around the cul-de-sac. Again, I was a clutz, and I fell off and broke my arm.

Well, my sweet son has now followed in my footsteps. And he has somewhat taken the lead as he has broken both of his arms before the age of 3. The first time, falling down who knows how many stairs, we were somewhat relieved that all we had to deal with was a broken arm. This time, he very slowly fell off of the arm of a LazyBoy reciner and onto carpet. It didn't seem like his arm should actually be broken. I guess the doctor at the pediatric after hours clinic thought the same thing as he read Micah's x-ray as negative. He did leave us with a hint of doubt as he called us in to show us the x-ray saying, "well, if it's broken, here is where it is broken." Great. So now we have hopefully 3 weeks of dealing with a cast. A cast that Micah is already asking us to take off so that we can kiss it and make it all better.

p.s. Dad, we don't need to go apologize to the rock in Arizona