It always seems like it's right when you're skipping along merrily on your way, whistling a tune, gazing up at the clouds, when SMACK! THUD! You crash into something... you stub your toe, you poke your eye with a branch, you trip over your own shoelace.
Sunday, Gavin was running in dizzy circles around Grandma Jennings's coffee table, head thrown back and giggling almost silently. When he could catch his breath enough to stop drooling and giggling and actually utter something understandable, it was only to sputter "get me!", to remind us to grab him and tickle him as he ran by. when he got bored with the coffee table, he moved to a glass sided end table directly in front of the old metal radiator beneath the big bay window. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze in between the end table and the radiator, so he wasn't running, just squeezing between the two and telling us in that same sputtering giggly voice, "it fun in heea" (translation: it's fun in here). And then, amid the delirious giggling, the wobbly legged prancing, he lost his footing. He slipped right down in between the old metal radiator and the end table, getting wedged in between the two and knocking his tender little forehead on the radiator. He screamed. It was like the sunshine turned to a tornado in just an instant. He cried as I rocked him and tried to hold ice on his head. He fought my hand with the ice pack, throwing his head backward, arching his back, flailing his arms and screaming, "no mommy". Grandma hopped in her truck and drove to my house to get the soft Elmo ice pack from my freezer, in hopes that Gavin would let us hold that one on his head. It made no difference. He fell asleep in my lap as I rocked him. The vertical dent in his forehead turned from blue to pink, and it didn't swell as much as I thought it would. I knew I couldn't sit there and hold him in my lap for two hours, so I woke him up and we went home. He crawled into bed and napped for three hours. I woke him up just in time to eat a quick bowl of hotdish before pulling on his halloween costume and heading out trick-or-treating.
Fast forward about 9 hours. I'm deep in a dream-filled sleep, chasing clouds, dancing among irridescent colored bubbles. Something startles me awake and I realize I'd better get up and go to the bathroom or I won't sleep well for the rest of the night. I'm a bit groggy, but pleased that I'd slept for five hours with no interruptions. I sneak around the end of the bed and "THWACK!" I kicked the runner of the rocking chair with the top of my foot. Ouch! Owie! Oh my stinking heck, that hurt! I now have a 2" in diameter swollen, bruised lump on the top side of my foot, right about where the top of any sensible shoe would rub. So, I guess it's little pumps and sandals for me this week!
...and then, I got my flu shot this morning. I'm not a wimp when it comes to needles. I give blood, I get shots, it really doesn't bother me at all. I have no complaints. Until today, ...ouch! the shot itself was painless, but something was up, because everytime I move my arm today, I just about think I'm going to have a heart attack. Talk about sore!!! Bad things happen in threes, right? I hope this counts and we don't have any more painful encounters to deal with for a few days!