Broken Kid

Having a kid in a cast that goes from his toes to his crotch has made me realize that our decision to stop breeding after the twins were born was the 100% correct one.  I didn't get an unbroken night of sleep for three and a half weeks after he fractured his leg and I'm back to serving breakfast, lunch and dinner to him along with numerous snacks throughout the day.  Bathing him is an exercise involving plastic bags, duct tape and strategically placed washcloths to prevent my eyes from accidentally seeing his junk.  (The same junk I wiped and diapered for three and a half years and that he was happy to waggle around in the fresh air for God and everyone to see for days at a time during the nudist years of three to five but will now apparently wither up and fall off if it comes into my line of vision.)

I'm tired and cranky and can't wait for him to be able to get himself to the bathroom and bathe the stinky 12 year old smell off himself properly.

Of course the broken kid is the one who asked his father to teach him how to make coffee and how I like mine fixed so he could bring me coffee in bed on Saturday mornings.  (Is my kid awesome or what?  He knows how to ensure the weekend is a good one!)  Saturday just isn't the same with him broken.

Nope, no more newborns for us.  I like self-sufficient 12 and 13 year olds.  Is it selfish of me to feel sorry for myself when it's my kid who has a broken leg?

Whatever.