So, I'm supposed to be recovering from major surgery, right? Yep. Today I opened the front door to put a few thank you notes in the mail slot and before I could stop him, Luke was standing on the front porch expounding on his desire to take a walk. Not going to happen. The temper tantrum that ensued caused my precious son to fall off the porch and hit his head on the cement with a sickeningly loud thud. My guts turned over and my brain went into Mommy Mode. I scooped him up off the sidewalk and carried him inside, holding him close and trying to calm him. It was only as I reached my chair and sat down that I realized the pain in my belly wasn't only sympathetic. After caring for Luke's goose egg, cleaning it with Oma's help, and applying ice with the aid of the boo boo bunny, I stopped to assess my situation. Yep. Definitely more pain than before I picked my 30 lb toddler up. Stink. It turns out that when the doctor tells you not to lift things except your baby, she doesn't mean your first born baby who is now nearly two years old.
All this to say, I'm thinking I need to stay away from the front door for awhile. It's only been two weeks and I really want recovery to be quicker as opposed to slower. Why is it so hard to slow down and do nothing? It's what we always claim we want. I think deep down we know that we are beings with a purpose and it is hard to believe that sometimes that purpose is to rest. That is my purpose right now. I am a rester. I don't even think that's a word in the English language! Regardless, that's what I am. Rester. Open for business 24 hours a day, seven days a week for at least the next four weeks. Would you like to come rest with me?
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