Be Patient With Me--I'm a Toddler

Happy birthday to this cutie who made me a mother!

The screensaver on my computer plays a never-ending stream of old pictures from the folders I have amassed over the years. Frankly, this is one of my favorite features of the digital age because I frequently catch a glimpse of a shot I might not have otherwise remembered.

This morning for example, I saw the face of a perfectly contented one-year-old Boy#1, who had just finished a meal of spaghetti. He is happy, the bowl is empty, and there is complete oblivious peace regarding the spaghetti sauce that coats his highchair, face, bib, arms, and the general three-states area.

So how are things going now that I'm two weeks and three days into having a broken wing? Well, pretty much like Boy#1 in this picture. I'm mostly content, well fed, and learning new things every day.

And, holy cow, am I messy.

Much of the messiness, to be sure, is inside my head. The Puritan work ethic that is especially strong in Kansans is leading to much guilt about what I cannot do. What I cannot do is what formerly filled the majority of my time.

I cannot cook. I cannot clean. I cannot type. I cannot knit. I cannot play the piano. (And we will not even mention the personal hygiene things that are difficult but not impossible to do one-handed, including showering, combing my hair, moisturizing my “good” arm, etc.)

Every single thing I do, including the things that I used to do without even thinking about them, takes many multiples of the amount of time it normally take. I'm looking at you, toothbrushing.

What I can do, I am finding, is figure out how to do the things that have to be done and quit doing everything else.

This post, for example, is being composed using voice-to-text technology. I'm speaking thoughts into my computer's microphone and it is more-or-less accurately transcribing them into a Word document that I will copy and paste into the blog. I do not like doing it this way. I've long thought that my fingers did most of the thinking for me when I typed, and now I know that is actually the case. But I'm grateful that this technology exists and I'm building new synapses as I learn how to use it.

I'm getting better at using eating utensils in my left hand. I believe I no longer look like a deranged toddler shoveling half my food into my mouth while the other half drops in my lap. But I have a great admiration for those toddlers who are figuring out how to use spoons and forks without having a real appreciation for why this is better than using their hands. (Is it? Is it, really?)

I am discovering the best wardrobe options for a one-handed person. This includes a total lack of fasteners--no buttons, no hooks and eyes, nothing to tie or buckle. Over-the-head T-shirts and elastic-waisted skirts are my friends. And why skirts, you might ask? Because in the complicated world of dressing and toileting, anything that doesn't need to be pulled up with two hands is a plus.

Pillows are essential. I sleep surrounded by fluffiness that can prop up the cast in the most comfy position. That cast by the way, cannot possibly weigh more than a pound or two but feels as if I'm hoisting a barbell at all times. A sling is helpful but mostly that just transfers the weight to a neck that is already achey.

I'll be honest, though: The most crucial component in this healing process is a husband with a servant heart.

Husband does not cook. At all. But since I made my way head-first into the iris bed, he has done the shopping, prepared the meals, set the table, cut up my food, and cleaned up afterwards.

And have I mentioned that we're doing this in the middle of a kitchen remodel? All kitchen duties are undertaken in the most primitive of conditions. I kept him company one night as he was washing the dishes on the deck, having filled the dishpan in the bathtub.

“It's like camping, isn't it?” I asked him.

“Yes, but with Wi-Fi and air conditioning,” he replied. “It's not so bad.”

I decided that for the next month or so that's going to be my mantra. This isn't my usual life, with its activities and responsibilities. But it could have been so much worse and I have Husband pampering me at every turn, good books, and Acorn streaming on the TV.

I may have spaghetti all over my face but it's not so bad.

He's a keeper.