Twisted Ankle

Apparently I have a drama every time my husband goes out. I think the suggestion is that the dramas are on purpose in response to some sort of resentment that he has gone to the pub after work. I actually do not care on jot about pub-visiting post-work as long as on return none of the sleepers in the house are awoken.

When I come home from an evening out, as illustrated last Thursday, I get ready for bed in the living room in perfect silence then use my phone to light the way to bed without waking anyone.

Let us contrast this with the following night when my husband went to a gig. At midnight I receive a phone call saying he is outside and has lost his keys. I drag my half-asleep butt out of bed and go buzz him into the building. Alas, no appearance of said man but a loud banging downstairs as he tries to get through the now-not-buzzing door.

When he does make it up the stairs he shouts about having dropped his phone, lost his keys oh and he is not wearing a t shirt. I let that pass and ask him to be quiet and let me go back to sleep. 10 minutes later the baby starts crying. Yep, he has gone in to look at him while drunk.

I swing my tired butt back out of bed and look into the living room to see my husband sat on the sofa ignoring the crying that he inadvertently caused.

“No don’t go in there, he’ll soothe himself back to sleep”, says drunk Dad.

“Really?” I ask, ” when he is sat bolt upright?”

This then results in a debate which I do not want to have when half-asleep about why he wants to get the baby back to sleep. I give up and go back to bed. An hour later I wake to hear a rhythmic thud and see my newly crawling son smiling at me and about to crawl to the three steps that lead to my bedroom. I have never dived out of bed so fast, scooped him up and charged down the corridor to find out what the hell happened.

The wonderfully oblivious husband is asleep on the nursery floor where he clearly thought that the best way to get the baby back to sleep is to put him on the floor to sleep. My son then climbed over his Dad, negotiated the door, stopped off to eat some cat food and turn over the bowl on his way to find me. Amused, I was not.

So we have a new rule in the house that if we go out and drink, we do not check on the baby before bed but trust that the sober, responsible parent has done this duty.

Well last night’s ‘drama’ was that I fell asleep nursing the baby to sleep. When I woke up I got up to put him in his cot and didn’t realise I had a dead-leg. My ankle went from under me and I twisted it. Last time this happened, I broke it and couldn’t walk properly for a good couple of months. I text my husband to let him know and then hopped to the sofa with everything in arms reach. All fine and good until my son had a rare crying session at 10.30. At this point I realised I couldn’t pick him up without massive amounts of pain and had to call my husband home from the pub. This was the drama.

The biggest let down was that there was no way I could negotiate the baby, pram and steps to get out of the flat today and missed some glorious sunshine. The ankle is just slightly bruised and a full day of outside, sun shining wonderfulness is planned.

 

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