One night last week after the kids were in bed, we heard Quinn wake up and cry (again). I think this was the third time in an hour that he had woken up, and the look of dread on my face was likely not one of a loving mother (ahem). I'm not sure if it was the impending Father's Day or his pitty for me after about 2 weeks of nearly sleepless nights since Quinn had Roseola, but Gary sprinted into action. He was intent on beating me up the stairs to get the babe back to sleep (not that I was even getting up, mind you). About three steps up, he said, "OWE, I think I broke my toe." To which I got up and said "put ice on it, I'll be down as soon as I get him back to sleep" as I passed him on the stairs on the way to Quinn's room. Well, turns out, after I insisted he go to the doctor the next day, he did indeed brake his toe, as you can see in his x-ray. "OWE" indeed!
So, he's trying to stay off of it and keep it elevated and out of our bumping and stomping paths. (I think I'm the worst about this so far.) This means he's largely off-duty for chasing kids, carrying both at the same time, mowing the lawn, and all the many house projects he had going for the next 6-10 weeks. It has made both of us realize just how much he does. This is not such a great deal for Mama, however, because I really miss his help. (This may be the Universe getting back to a sort of equilibrium after my sluggish pregnancy.) However, we now have a reason to tell Gary to rest for awhile and we are getting to see more of him. Maybe he'll learn a few more banjo tunes before this is all over.
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